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TH  E  STREAM 


E.F.BENSON 


I .' 


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ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

E.   F.   BENSON 


By  E.  F.  BENSON 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

THE  WHITE  EAGLE  OF  POLAND 

UP  AND  DOWN 

AN  AUTUMN   SOWING 

CRESCENT  AND  IRON  CROSS 

THE   TORTOISE 

THE  FREAKS   OF   MAYFAIR 

DAVID   BLAIZE 

MICHAEL 

THE  OAKLEYITES 

ARUNDEL 

NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


ACROSS    THE 
STREAM 


BY 

E.  F.  BENSON 

AUTHOR   OF   "up   AND   DOWN,"    "DODO,' 
"DAVID   BLAIZE,"   ETC. 


NEW  Xar  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  igig, 
By  George  E.  Doran  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


V 


K 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM 


CHAPTER  I 

Certain  scenes,  certain  pictures  of  his  very  early 
years  of  childhood,  stood  out  for  Archie,  when  he 
came  to  the  mature  age  of  eight  or  nine,  above  the 
dim  clouds  that  engulfed  the  time  when  the  power 
of  memory  was  only  beginning  to  germinate.  He  had 
no  doubt  (and  was  probably  right  about  it)  as  to 
which  the  earliest  of  those  was:  it  was  the  face  of 
his  nurse  Blessington  leaning  over  his  crib.  She 
held  a  candle  in  her  hand  which  a  little  dazzled 
him,  but  the  sight  of  her  face,  tender  and  anxious 
and  divinely  reassuring,  was  the  point  of  that  mem- 
ory. He  had  been  asleep,  and  had  awoke  with  a 
start,  and  finding  himself  alone  in  the  midst  of  the 
immense  desolation  of  the  dark  that  pressed  like  an 
invader  from  all  sides  onto  him,  he  had  lifted  up  his 
voice  and  yelled.  Then  as  by  a  conjuring- trick 
Blessington  had  appeared  with  her  comforting  pres- 
ence that  quite  robbed  the  dark  of  its  terrors.  It 
must  still  have  been  early  in  the  night,  for  she  had 
not  yet  gone  to  bed,  and  had  on  above  her  smooth 
grey  hair  her  cap  with  its  adorable  blue  ribands  in 
it.  At  her  throat  was  the  brooch  made  of  the  same 
stuff  as  the  shining  shillings  with  which  a  year  or 
two  later  she  bought  the  buns  and  sponge-cakes  for 
tea.    He  remembered  no  more  than  that,  he  knew 

7 


8  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

nothing  of  what  she  had  said:  the  whole  of  that' 
memory  consisted  in  the  fact  of  the  entire  comfort 
and  relief  which  her  face  brought.  It  was  just  a 
vignette  of  memory,  the  earliest  of  all;  there  was 
nothing  whatever  before  it,  and  for  some  time  noth- 
ing after. 

Gradually  the  horizon  widened;  scenes  and  situ- 
ations in  which  Archie  was  still,  as  it  were,  a  de- 
tached observer  (as  if  looking  through  a  telescope) 
made  themselves  visible.  He  remembered  gazing 
through  the  bars  of  the  high  nursery-fire  guard  at 
the  joyful  glow  of  the  coals.  At  the  corner  of  the 
grate  (he  remembered  this  with  extreme  distinct- 
ness) there  was  a  black  coal  the  edge  of  which  was 
soft  and  bubbly.  A  thin  streamer  of  smoke  blew 
out  of  it,  and  from  time  to  time  this  smoke  caught 
light  and  flared  very  satisfactorily.  But  all  that,  the 
joyfulness  and  the  satisfaction,  was  external  to  him; 
it  was  the  coals  and  the  streams  of  burning  gas  that 
were  in  themselves  joyful  and  satisfactory.  That 
must  have  been  in  the  winter,  and  it  was  in  the  same 
winter  perhaps  that  he  came  home  with  Blessington 
and  two  other  children,  girls  and  larger  than  himself, 
whom  he  grew  to  believe  were  his  sisters,  through  a 
wood  of  fir-trees  between  the  trunks  of  which  shone 
a  round  red  ball  that  resembled  the  coals  in  the 
nursery-grate.  He  knew,  perhaps  Blessington,  per- 
haps a  sister,  perhaps  his  mother  had  told  him,  that 
it  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  he  saw  that  when  Bless- 
ington spoke  to  him  she  steamed  delightfully  at  the 
mouth,  as  if  there  had  been  a  hot  bath  just  inside 
her  lips.  At  her  suggestion  he  found  he  could  do 
it,  too,  and  his  sisters  also;  whereafter  they  played 
hot-baths  all  the  way  home.  But  of  the  Christmas 
Day  that  followed  he  had  no  recollection  whatever. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  9 

His  observation  grew  a  little  less  detached,  and  he 
began  to  form  in  his  mind  an  explorer's  map  of  the 
places  where  these  phenomena  occurred,  to  be  dimly 
aware  that  he  was  taking  some  sort  of  part  in  them, 
and  was  not  a  mere  spectator.  One  summer  eve- 
ning he  definitely  knew  that  the  day-nursery  and  the 
night-nursery  and  the  room  beyond  where  his  sisters 
slept  were  all  part  of  the  red-brick  house  which  he 
and  others  inhabited,  just  as,  according  to  Blessing- 
ton,  the  rabbit  which  he  had  seen  pop  into  its  hole 
in  the  wood  beyond  the  lawn  had  a  home  within  it. 
He  had  already  had  his  bath  before  going  to  bed,  on 
a  patch  of  sunlight  that  lay  on  the  floor,  and  escap- 
ing, shppery  as  a  trout,  from  Blessington's  towelling 
hands,  had  run  with  a  squeal  of  delight  across  to  the 
window.  Outside  was  the  lawn,  which  hitherto  he 
had  thought  of  as  a  thing  apart,  a  picture  by  itself, 
and  beyond  was  the  wood  where  the  rabbit  had  a 
house.  On  the  lawn  was  his  mother  playing  croquet 
with  his  two  sisters,  and  of  a  sudden  it  all  flashed 
upon  him  that  the  wood  and  the  rabbit,  the  lawn 
and  the  croquet-players,  the  night-nursery,  Bless- 
ington,  the  shine  of  the  sun  low  in  the  West,  and  his 
own  wet  self  were  all  in  some  queer  manner  part  of 
the  same  thing,  and  made  up  the  place  to  which  he 
and  Blessington  went  back  when  at  the  limit  of  their 
walk  she  said  it  was  time  to  go  home. 

"Oh,  there's  Mummy,"  he  cried.  "Mummy  !'^ 
And  he  danced  naked  at  the  window. 

Blessington  caught  him  in  the  towel  again. 

"Well,  I  never!"  she  said.  "That's  not  the  way 
for  a  young  gentleman  to  behave.  There,  let  me 
dry  you,  dear,  and  put  your  night-shirt  on,  and  you 
shall  say  good-night  to  your  mamma  out  of  the 
window." 


10  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

This  was  duly  done,  and  it  struck  Archie  as  a  very 
novel  and  delightful  discovery  that  he  could  say 
good-night  to  his  mother  when  she  was  on  the 
croquet-lawn  and  he  up  in  his  nursery.  It  shed  & 
new  light  on  existence  generally,  and  coloured  with  a 
new  interest  the  few  drowsy  moments  which  inter- 
vened between  his  being  put  into  bed  and  falling 
asleep.  Blessington  still  moved  quietly  about  the 
room,  emptying  his  bath,  and  putting  his  clothes 
tidy,  and  he  just  remembered  her  kissing  him  when 
she  had  finished.  He  was  already  too  suffused  with 
drowsiness  to  make  any  response,  and  he  slid  softly 
out  over  the  tides  of  sleep. 

That  night  he  became  acquainted  with  a  new  sort 
of  experience,  something  hitherto  quite  foreign  to 
him.  Once  again  he  woke  in  the  night  and  found 
himself  surrounded  by  the  vast  dark,  save  where 
in  a  corner  of  the  nursery  there  burned  the  shaded 
night-light.  But  now  there  was  no  sense  of  terror, 
he  did  not  want  to  call  for  Blessington,  but  lay 
open-eyed  and  absorbed  in  the  amazing  thing  that 
was  happening.  The  night-nursery  (where  he  knew 
he  was)  and  he  with  it  were  expanding  and  extend- 
ing, till  they  comprised  the  lawn  and  the  wood  be- 
yond the  lawn,  and  all  else  that  he  had  ever  known. 
His  sisters  and  his  mother  and  father  were  all  there 
though  he  could  not  see  them :  Blessington  was  there 
and  Graves  the  butler  and  Walter  and  William  the 
two  footmen.  He  could  not  see  them,  any  more 
than  he  could  see  the  moon  and  the  sun,  which  were 
there  also,  but  they  were  there  as  part  of  an  unusual 
presence  that  filled  the  place.  He  could  not  see 
that  unusual  presence  either,  but  it  was  tremen- 
dously real  and  filled  him  not  in  the  least  with  awe, 
but  with  the  feeling  with  which  Blessington's  face 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  11 

and  bis  mother's  face  inspired  him  .  .  .  And  the 
next  thing  that  he  was  aware  of  was  the  rattle  of  the 
blind,  and  Blessington's  voice  saying,  "Eh,  what  a 
time  of  morning  to  have  slept  to.  I  know  a  sleepy- 
head." 

He  recounted  this  remarkable  experience  to  Bless- 
ington  at  breakfast,  who  was  quite  sure  that  it  was 
all  a  dream;  a  nice  dream,  but  a  dream. 

"Wasn't  a  dream,"  said  Archie  firmly. 

"And  where  did  Mr.  Contradiction  go?"  asked 
Blessington. 

Archie  knew  where  Mr.  Contradiction  went,  for 
Mr.  Contradiction  lived  in  a  very  dull  comer  of  the 
nursery  with  his  face  to  the  wall  for  five  minutes. 

"Well,  it  didn't  seem  like  a  dream,"  he  said.  "May 
I  get  down?" 

"Yes,  and  say  your  grace." 

"Thank  God  for  my  good  dinner,"  said  Archie 
who  was  not  attending. 

"Say  it  again,  dear,"  said  Blessington,  "and  think." 

"I  meant  breakfast,"  said  Archie.    "Amen." 

The  discovery  of  the  connection,  made  last  night, 
between  himself  in  the  night-nursery  and  his  mother 
on  the  lawn  which  proved  that  the  lawn  and  the 
house  were  part  of  the  same  thing,  produced  fur- 
ther results  that  day.  Instead  of  memory  consisting 
of  different  and  severed  pictures  it  began  to  flow 
into  one  coherent  whole.  He  knew,  of  course,  al- 
ready that  at  the  end  of  the  nursery  passage  was  a 
wooden  wicket-gate,  and  that  outside  that  was  the 
long  gallery  that  skirted  round  three  sides  of  the 
hall,  while  on  the  fourth  ran  a  broad  staircase  each 
step  of  which  had  to  be  surmounted  and  descended 
either  by  a  series  of  jumps,  or,  if  the  feet  were  tired, 
by  the  extension  of  one  foot  on  to  the  next  stair 


12  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

where  it  was  joined  by  the  other,  but  he  began  now 
to  put  these  isolated  facts  together,  and  form  them 
into  the  conception  of  a  house.  When  the  staircase 
was  negotiated  you  found  yourself  in  a  large  oak- 
floored  hall,  where  you  were  not  allowed  to  slide  on 
purpose,  though  both  Blessington  and  his  mother 
had  the  sense  to  distinguish  between  deliberate  and 
unintentional  slidings.  There  were  bright  rugs 
spread  here  and  there  over  the  hall  forming  islands 
in  a  sea  of  glass.  Archie  knew  it  was  not  made  of 
glass  really,  but  he  chose  to  think  that  it  was,  for  it 
had  the  qualities  of  a  looking-glass  in  that  it  re- 
flected his  own  bare-legged  form  above  it,  and  the 
slipperiness  of  glass  as  exhibited  in  the  window- 
panes  of  the  nursery,  and  he  chose  to  think  also 
that  it  was  to  the  hall-floor  that  the  hynm  alluded 
which  was  sung  last  Sunday  morning  in  a  dazzling 
and  populous  place  to  which  his  mother  had  taken 
him.  There  were  two  rows  of  boys  dressed  in 
crinkly  white  night-gowns  who  sang  loudest  in  com- 
pany with  some  grown-up  men  who  were  attired  in 
the  same  curious  manner.  But  none  of  them  went 
to  bed,  and  at  a  pause  in  the  proceedings  Archie  had 
suddenly  asked  his  mother  in  a  piercing  voice  why 
they  didn't  go  to  bed.  Evidently  that  had  puzzled 
her  too,  for  she  had  no  reply  to  give  him  except 
"Hush,  darling!"  which  wasn't  an  answer  at  all. 
Then  another  man  had  begun  talking  all  by  him- 
self. He  had  a  quantity  of  hair  on  his  face  which 
wagged  in  so  delightful  a  manner  when  he  spoke 
that  Archie  watched  him  entranced  for  a  little,  and 
then,  afraid  that  his  mother  was  missing  this  lovely 
sight,  said: 

"0  Mummie,  isn't  that  a  funny  man?" 

Upon   which    Blessington,    magically    communi- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  13 

cated  with,  appeared  by  his  side  and  whispered  that 
they  were  going  for  a  walk,  and  towed  him  down  the 
aisle,  still  rapturously  looking  back  at  the  funny 
man.  Archie  had  thought  it  all  great  fun,  but  he 
was  told  afterwards  by  his  father  that  he  had  dis- 
graced himself  and  should  not  go  to  church  again 
for  many  Sundays  to  come. 

Archie  was  frightened  of  his  father,  and  always 
went  warily  by  the  door  of  the  room  at  the  dark 
comer  of  the  hall  where  this  tremendous  person 
lived.  There  were  other  dangers  about  that  comer, 
for  on  the  floor  were  two  tiger  skins  which  looked 
as  if  the  animal  in  question  had  with  the  exception 
of  its  head  been  squashed  out  flat  like  as  when  he 
and  Blessington  sometimes  put  a  flower  they  had 
gathered  on  their  wallvs  between  two  sheets  of  blot- 
ting-paper, and  piled  books  on  the  top,  so  that  it 
ceased  to  be  a  flower  and  became  the  map  of  a 
flower.  Archie  wished  the  tiger  heads  had  been 
pressed  in  the  same  way;  as  it  was,  they  were  dis- 
concertingly solid  and  life-like  with  long  teeth  and 
snarling  mouths  and  glaring  eyes.  He  had  always 
made  Blessington  come  right  up  to  his  father's  door 
with  him  when  he  went  in  to  say  good-night,  so 
that  she  should  pilot  him  safely  past  the  tigers  on 
his  entry  and  escort  him  by  them  again  on  his 
return.  But  one  night  his  father  had  come  out  with 
him  himself,  and  finding  Blessington  waiting  there 
had  divined  as  by  some  awful  black  magic,  why  the 
nurse  was  waiting,  and  had  decreed  that  Archie 
should  in  future  make  his  way  across  the  danger 
zone  unattended.  But  next  evening,  the  trembling 
Archie  hurrying  away  in  the  dusk,  had  fallen  down 
on  the  glassy  sea  between  the  awful  Scylla  and 
Charybdis,  and  convinced  that  his  last  hour  had 


U  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

come,  when  these  two  cruel  heads  beheld  him  pros- 
trate on  the  floor,  had  cried  half  the  night  in  terror 
of  that  awful  ending.  But  next  day  his  mother, 
who  understood  about  things  in  general  much  bet- 
ter, had  caused  the  tigers  to  make  friends  with  him, 
and  in  token  of  their  amity  had  each  of  them  pre- 
sented him  with  a  whisker-hair.  That  assured 
their  friendship,  and  they  wished  it  to  be  under- 
stood that  their  snarlings  and  glarings  were  di- 
rected not  at  Archie  but  at  Archie's  enemies.  This 
naturally  changed  their  whole  aspect,  and  Archie, 
after  he  had  wished  his  father  good-night,  kissed  the 
hairy  heads  that  had  once  been  so  terrifying,  and 
thanked  them  for  so  successfully  keeping  his  ene- 
mies from  molesting  him. 

But  though  now  the  presence  of  the  tigers,  ceasing 
to  be  a  terror  by  night,  had  become  a  protection  to 
Archie,  their  corner  of  the  hall  still  constituted  a 
danger  zone  to  be  gone  by  swiftly  and  silently,  lest 
a  raised  voice  or  an  incautious  footfall  should  cause 
him  to  be  called  from  within  the  closed  door  of  his 
father's  room.  There  were  risks  in  that  room :  you 
never  quite  knew  whether  you  were  not  going  to 
be  blamed  for  doing  something  which  you  had  no 
idea  was  blameworthy.  One  day  Archie  had  found 
a  lovely  wax  match  with  a  blue  head  to  it  on  the 
floor,  and  had  put  it  in  his  pocket,  where  he  fin- 
gered it  delightedly,  for  he  knew  it  to  be  the  sort 
which  flamed  when  you  rubbed  it  against  your  boot 
or  the  bricks  of  the  house,  as  he  had  seen  his  father 
do.  But  then,  when  a  little  later  he  had  come  to 
sit  on  his  father's  knee  and  be  shewn  pictures  in  a 
book  of  natural  history,  it  was  detected  that  his 
small  fingers  smelled  of  phosphorus,  and  when  the 
reason  was  discovered,  he  was  told  by  his  father 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  15 

that  he  had  stolen  that  match.  To  Archie's  mind 
therci  was  something  inexplicably  unfair  and  unjust 
about  this:  he  knew  quite  well  that  the  match  was 
not  his,  but  he  had  no  idea  that  it  was  stealing  if 
5'ou  appropriated  something  that  was  dropped  on 
the  floor.  A  thing  dropped  on  the  floor  was  no- 
body's, and  anybody,  so  he  supposed,  might  take  it. 
It  had  been  quite  another  affair  when  he  had  taken 
eight  lumps  of  sugar  out  of  the  basin  on  the  tea- 
table  in  the  drawing-room  and  hidden  them  in  the 
domino-box.  He  had  been  perfectly  well  aware 
that  he  was  stealing  then,  and  had  no  sense  of  in- 
justice when  his  mother  had  promptly  and  soundly 
smacked  him  for  it.  But  he  intensely  resented  being 
told  by  his  father  that  he  had  stolen  (even  though 
he  was  not  smacked)  when  he  had  not  the  least 
idea  that  a  match  dropped  on  the  floor  was  a  steal- 
able  article  at  all,  and  he  felt  it  far  more  bitter  to 
be  unjustly  blamed  than  justly  punished. 

"But  I  didn't  know  it  was  stealing,  daddy,"  said 
he. 

"But  didn't  you  know  it  wasn't  yours?" 

"Yes." 

"And  didn't  you  know  that  to  take  what  isn't 
yours  is  stealing?" 

Archie  couldn't  explain,  but  he  was  still  quite 
sure  he  had  not  been  stealing.  .  .  . 

His  father's  room  then,  at  least  when  that  po- 
tentate was  in  it,  was  a  place  where  extreme  cau- 
tion was  necessary,  and  however  cautious  you  were 
(he  had  not  felt  guilty  of  the  smallest  temerity  in 
picking  up  that  match)  you  could  never  be  quite 
sure  that  Fate  like  some  great  concealed  cat  would 
not  pounce  upon  you  from  the  most  unexpected 
quarter.     But  considered  in  itself,  the  room  had  a 


16  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

tremendous  attraction  for  him.  There  was  a  de- 
licious smell  about  it,  subtly  compounded  of  the 
leather  backs  of  books  and  the  aroma  of  tobacco, 
which  to  Archie's  dawning  perception  had  some- 
thing virile  and  masculine  about  it.  He  could  un- 
derstand it,  it  answered  to  something  that  was 
shared  by  him,  and  not  shared  by  his  mother  or 
Blessington  or  his  sisters,  and  belonged  to  a  man. 
The  furniture  and  the  appurtenances  of  the  room 
conveyed  the  same  message;  they  were  strong  and 
solid  without  frillings  or  frippery,  and  had  a  decisive 
air  and  a  purpose  about  them,  which  somehow  con- 
cerned that  mysterious  difference  between  boys  and 
girls,  between  men  and  women.  His  mother's  sit- 
ting-room, it  is  true,  seemed  to  Archie  a  fairy- 
palace  of  loveliness  with  its  spindle-legged  tables, 
its  lace-edged  curtains,  its  soft  silky  cushions,  its 
china,  its  glittering  silver  toys  on  a  particular  black 
lacquer  table,  its  nameless  feminine  fragrance.  But 
this  room  with  its  solid  leather  chairs,  which  held 
small  limbs  as  in  a  tender  male  embrace,  its  gun- 
case  in  the  corner,  its  whip-rack,  its  few  solid  sober 
pictures  which  hung  above  the  book-shelves,  struck 
a  different  and  more  intimate  and  more  intelligible 
note.  Archie  felt  that  he  knew  what  it  was  all 
about  ...  it  was  about  a  man,  to  which  genus  he 
himself  belonged.  This  particular  specimen,  his 
father,  might  be  unjust  to  him,  and  severe  to  him, 
but  in  some  secret  inexplicable  manner  Archie  un- 
derstood him,  though  fearing  him,  better  than  he 
understood  either  his  mother  or  Blessington,  both 
of  whom  he  loved.  His  two  sisters  in  the  same  way 
had  a  quality  of  enigma  about  them. 

These    floating    impressions,    the   untranslatable 
instincts  of  early  childhood,  began  to  thicken,  when 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  17 

Archie  was  getting  on  for  six  years  old,  into  thoughts 
capable  of  being  solidified  into  language.  He  could 
not  have  solidified  them  himself,  but  if  any  one  ca- 
pable of  presenting  them  to  him  in  actual  words 
had  asked  him,  "Is  it  this  you  mean?"  he  would 
have  assented.  And  his  solidified  thoughts  would 
have  taken  the  following  mould : 

There  was  something  odd  about  females,  and  it 
was  a  mystery  into  which  he  did  not  at  all  want  to 
enquire.  They  wore  skirts,  which  perhaps  con- 
cealed some  abnormality,  which  would  be  fearful 
to  contemplate.  They  had  soft  faces  and  soft 
bodies;  when  his  mother  took  him  on  her  knee — she 
already  said  that  he  was  getting  too  big  a  boy  to 
sit  on  her  knee,  which  to  Archie  sounded  very  grand 
and  delightful — she  was  soft  to  his  shoulder,  and 
her  cheek  was  soft  to  his.  But  when  he  sat  on  his 
father's  knee,  he  felt  a  hard  firm  substance  behind 
him,  and  the  contrast  was  similar  to  the  contrast 
between  his  mother's  soft  cushions  and  his  father's 
leather-clad  chairs.  And  his  father  had  a  hard 
bristly  cheek  on  which  to  receive  Archie's  good- 
night kiss.  Judged  by  the  standards  of  pleasure  and 
luxury  it  was  not  nearly  as  nice  as  his  mother's,  but 
it  gave  him,  however  great  need  there  was  for  cau- 
tion, a  sense  of  identity  with  himself.  He  was  of 
that  species.  .  .  .  And  this  conception  of  abnor- 
mality in  women  was  strongly  confirmed  when  one 
morning  he  went  as  usual  to  his  mother's  bedroom 
to  see  her  before  she  went  down  to  breakfast.  She 
had  been  late  in  getting  up  that  day,  and  not  find- 
ing her  in  her  bedroom,  Archie's  attention  had  been 
arrested  by  hearing  sounds  from  her  bath-room  next 
door,  and  very  naturally  had  turned  the  handle  in 
order  to  enter.    But  a  voice  from  inside  had  said : 


18  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"Is  that  you,  darling?    Wait  just  a  minute." 

"But  I  want  to  come  in  now,"  said  Archie.  "I'm 
coming  in." 

"Archie,  I  shall  be  very  angry  if  you  come  in 
before  I  give  you  leave,"  said  the  voice.  Then 
there  were  rustlings.    "Come  in  now." 

And  there  was  his  mother  standing  by  her  bath 
which  smelt  deliciously  fragrant  in  a  lovely  blue 
bath-towel  dressing-gown. 

"Good-morning,  darling,"  said  she.  "But  you 
must  never  come  into  a  lady's  bath-room  unless  she 
gives  you  leave." 

"Why  not?"  said  Archie.  "You  come  to  see  me 
in  my  bath  without  my  saying  'yes.'  " 

She  gave  that  delicious  bubble  of  laughter  that 
reminded  Archie  of  the  sound  of  cool  lemonade 
being  poured  out  of  the  bottle. 

"I  shan't  when  you're  as  old  as  me,"  she  said. 
"I  shall  always  ask  your  leave.  And  probably  you 
won't  give  it  me." 

"Why  not?    It's  only  me,"  said  Archie. 

"You'll  know  when  you're  older,"  said  she. 

Archie  rather  despised  that  argument:  it  seemed 
to  apply  to  so  many  situations  in  life.  But  he  had 
already  formed  the  very  excellent  habit  of  credit- 
ing his  mother  with  the  gift  of  common-sense,  for 
was  it  not  she  who  had  discovered  that  the  snarl  of 
the  tiger-heads  was  a  snarl  not  at  Archie  but  at  his 
enemies?  But  on  this  occasion  it  merely  confirmed 
his  conviction  that  women  were  somehow  deformed. 
They  wore  skirts  instead  of  breeches,  and  though 
judging  by  his  younger  sister  they  were  normal  up 
to  about  the  level  of  the  knee,  it  seemed  likely  that 
their  legs  extended  no  further,  but  that  they  be- 
came like  pegtops,  swelling  out  in  one  round  piece 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  19 

till  their  bodies  were  reached.  What  confirmed  this 
impression  was  that  they  seemed  to  run  from  their 
knees  instead  of  striding  with  a  swung  leg.  Bless- 
iiigton  always  ran  like  that:  her  feet  twinkled  in 
ridiculously  short  steps,  and  after  a  moment  or  two 
she  said: 

"Eh,  I  can't  run  any  more.  I've  got  a  bone  in 
my  leg." 

"And  haven't  I?"  asked  Archie. 

"No,  dear:  you're  just  made  of  gristle  and  quick- 
silver," said  Blessington,  with  a  sudden  lyrical 
spasm  as  she  looked  at  the  shining-face  of  her  most 
beloved, 

"What's  quicksilver?"  asked  Archie.  "And  why 
haven't  I  got  a  bone  in  my  leg?  0-o-oh!"  and  a 
sudden  thought  struck  him.  "Have  women  got 
bones  in  their  legs  and  not  boys?  Is  that  why  they 
can't  run  properly?  Mummie  can't  run,  nor  can 
you,  but  William  can,  damn  him." 

"T^Iaster  Archie!"  said  Blessington  in  her  most 
severe  voice. 

"What  for?"  asked  Archie. 

"You  must  never  say  that,  Master  Archie,"  said 
Blessington,  who  only  called  him  Master  Archie  on 
impressive  occasions.  "You  must  never  say  what 
you  said  after  'William  can.' " 

"But  Daddy  said  it  to  William  this  morning,"  said 
Archie. 

Blessington  still  wore  the  iron  mask  on  her  face. 
It  was  lucky  for  her  that  Archie  did  not  know  how 
puzzled  she  was  as  to  the  correct  answer. 

"Your  Papa  says  what  he  thinks  fit,"  she  said, 
"and  that  is  right  for  him.  But  young  gentlemen 
never  say  it." 

"How  old  shall  I  have  to  be "  began  Archie. 


20  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"And  look  at  your  shoe-lace  all  untied,"  said 
Blessington  with  extreme  promptitude.  "Do  it  up 
at  once,  or  you'll  be  treading  on  it.  And  then  it  will 
be  time  for  you  to  go  in,  and  you  can  write  your 
letter  to  Miss  Marjorie  before  your  dinner," 

Miss  Marjorie  was  the  eldest  of  Archie's  two  sis- 
ters. She  was  ten  years  older  than  he  and  at  the 
present  time  was  staying  with  her  grandmother 
whom  Archie  strongly  suspected  of  being  either  a 
witch  or  a  man.  She  was  large  and  rustling,  and 
had  a  bass  voice  and  a  small  moustache  and  a 
smaller  husband  who  was  an  Earl,  to  whom,  when 
he  came  to  stay  with  Archie's  father,  who  appeared 
to  be  his  son,  every  one  paid  a  great  deal  of  un- 
necessary attention.  Both  of  them,  Archie's  father 
and  Archie's  father's  father,  were  lords,  and  Archie 
distinctly  thought  he  ought  to  be  a  lord  too,  con- 
sidering that  both  his  father  and  his  grandfather 
were.  Blessington  had  hinted  that  he  would  be  a 
lord  too  some  day,  if  he  were  good,  but  when  pressed 
she  couldn't  say  when.  In  fact,  there  was  a  ridicu- 
lous reticence  about  the  whole  matter,  for  when  he 
had  asked  his  mother,  in  the  presence  of  his  grand- 
father, when  he  was  going  to  be  a  lord,  his  grand- 
father, quite  inexplicably,  had  giggled  with  laughter, 
and  said: 

"I've  got  one  foot  in  the  grave  already,  Archie, 
and  you  want  me  to  have  both." 

That  was  a  very  cryptic  remark,  and  when  Archie 
asked  William  the  footman  what  grandpapa  Tinta- 
gel  had  meant,  William  had  said  that  he  couldn't 
say,  sir.  On  which  Archie,  looking  hastily  round, 
and  feeling  sure  that  Blessington  was  not  present, 
had  repeated,  "Damn  you,  William,"  as  Daddy  said. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  21 

Then  William,  after  endeavouring  not  to  show 
two  rows  of  jolly  white  teeth,  had  said: 

"You  must  never  say  that  to  me,  Master  Archie." 

In  fact,  there  was  clearly  a  league.  Blessington 
and  William,  who  didn't  love  each  other,  as  Archie 
had  ascertained  by  direct  questions  to  each,  were 
at  one  over  the  question  of  him  not  saying  that. 
Under  the  stress  of  independent  evidence  Archie 
decided  not  to  say  it  any  more,  without  further  ex- 
periments as  to  the  effect  "it"  would  have  on  his 
mother.  If  William  and  Blessington  were  both 
agreed  about  it,  it  had  clearly  better  not  be  done, 
any  more  than  it  was  wise  to  walk  about  among  the 
flowers  of  the  big  herbaceous  border.  The  gardener 
and  the  gardener's  boy  and  his  mother  were  all  of 
one  mind  about  that,  and  the  gardener's  boy  had 
threatened  to  turn  the  hose  onto  him  if  he  caught 
him  at  it.  The  gardener's  boy  was  quite  grown  up, 
and  so  for  Archie  he  had  a  weight  of  authority  that 
befitted  his  years. 

It  was  a  lovely  disconnected  life.  There  were  all 
sorts  of  delightful  and  highly-coloured  strands  that 
contributed  to  it,  and  others  of  a  more  sombre  hue, 
and  others  again  quite  secret,  which  concerned 
Archie  alone,  and  of  which  he  never  spoke  to  any- 
body. Of  the  delightful  and  highly-coloured  strands 
there  were  many.  Waking  in  the  morning,  and 
knowing  that  there  was  going  to  be  another  day  was 
one  of  them,  and  perhaps  that  was  the  most  delight- 
ful of  all,  except  when,  rarely,  it  was  clouded  with 
some  trouble  of  the  evening  before,  like  as  when 
Archie  had  broken  a  window  in  his  father's  study 
in  the  laudable  attempt  to  kill  a  wasp  \^ith  a  fire- 
shovel,  and  had  been  told  by  Blessington  that  his 
father  wished  to  see  him  the  moment  he  was  dressed 


22  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

in  the  morning.  But  usually  the  wakings  were  ec- 
static; and  often  he  used  to  return  to  consciousness 
in  those  summer  months  long  before  Blessington 
came  in  to  call  him.  The  window  was  always  open 
— all  the  windows  in  the  night-nursery  were  opened 
as  soon  as  he  got  into  bed — and  the  blinds  were  up, 
and  on  the  ceiling  was  the  most  delicious  green 
light,  for  the  early  sun  shone  through  the  branches 
of  the  beeches  outside,  and  painted  Archie's  ceiling 
with  a  pale  milky  green  which  was  adorable  to  con- 
template. He  would  pull  up  his  night-shirt,  and 
with  his  bare  arms  clasp  his  bare  knees,  and  lying 
on  his  back,  rather  unsteadily  anchored,  would  roll 
backwards  and  forwards  looking  at  the  green  light, 
and  rehearsing  all  the  delightful  probabilities  of  the 
day.  Sometimes  his  mother  had  promised  him  that 
he  should  go  out  fishing  on  the  lake  when  his  lessons 
were  done,  and  this  implied  the  wonderful  experi- 
ence of  seeing  Walter  or  William  come  out  onto  the 
lawn,  and  pour  out  of  a  tin  gardening-can  a  mix- 
ture of  mustard  and  water.  When  William  did  that 
it  was  certain  that  in  a  short  time  the  grass  would  be 
covered  with  worms,  which  William  put  in  a  tin-box 
lined  with  moss.  Then  Archie  and  William,  some- 
times with  a  sister,  whose  presence,  Archie  thought, 
was  not  wholly  desirable,  since  she  impeded  the  free 
flow  of  thought  between  him  and  William,  would 
go  down  to  the  lake,  and  William,  who  could  do 
everything,  put  worms  on  hooks  (they  did  not  seem 
to  mind,  for  they  said  no  word  of  protest)  and 
sculled  across  to  the  sluice  above  which  was  deep 
water,  where  the  fish  fed,  and  away  from  the  reeds, 
where  the  line  got  entangled,  so  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  hear  whether  you  were  engaged  with  a  fish 
or  a  vegetable.     The  fishing-rod  came  out  of  his 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  23 

father's  study — that  was  another  delightful  male  at- 
tribute about  the  room — and  when  Archie  went  in  to 
ask  for  it,  William  came  too,  not  in  his  livery,  but  in 
ordinary  clothes,  and  his  father  said:  "Take  good 
care  of  Master  Archie,  William.  Good  sport, 
Archie."  Sometimes  again  if  he  was  not  busy  Lord 
Davidstow  came  out  with  Archie  instead  of  Wil- 
liam. That  was  somehow  an  honour,  but  Archie  did 
not  like  it  so  much. 

Once  a  great  happening  happened.  William  pro- 
duced a  curious  object  that  looked  like  the  bowl  of 
a  spoon  with  hooks  set  all  round  it.  He  said  there 
were  going  to  be  no  worms  this  time,  and  instead 
of  drifting  about,  he  rowed  up  and  down,  while 
Archie  with  his  rod  over  the  stern  saw  the  spoon 
flashing  through  the  water.  Then  a  great  shadow 
came  over  it,  and  Archie  felt  the  rod  bend  in  his 
hands.  He  was  so  excited  that  he  stepped  onto  the 
seat  of  the  boat,  in  order  to  see  better,  and  promptly 
fell  overboard. 

He  was  not  the  least  frightened,  and  rather  en- 
joyed the  splash  and  the  sense  of  soda-water  round 
him.  With  both  hands  he  held  on  to  the  fishing- 
rod,  which  seemed  an  absolutely  essential  thing  to 
do,  and  sank  down,  down  in  the  deep  water,  seeing 
it  green  and  yellow  above  his  head.  And  then  in- 
stantly he  knew  he  was  going  to  be  drowned,  and  a 
feeling,  precisely  identical  to  that  which  he  had  ex- 
perienced one  night  when  he  woke,  of  a  universal 
presence  round  about  him,  took  complete  possession 
of  him.  Then,  even  before  he  was  conscious  of  the 
least  sense  of  choking  or  discomfort,  but  was  still 
only  aware  of  coolness  and  depth  and  greenness,  a 
great  dark  splaying  object  came  right  down  upon 
him  from  above,  and  he  found  himself  tucked  under- 


24  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

neath  a  human  arm,  coatless  and  in  shirt-sleeves 
which  he  took  to  be  William's.  But  still  Archie  did 
not  let  go  of  the  fishing-rod,  and  mistakenly  trying 
to  speak,  bidding  William  take  care  of  it,  his  mouth 
and  apparently  his  whole  interior  filled  with  water, 
and  drowning  seemed  to  be  a  suddenly  disagreeable 
process.  Next  moment,  however,  his  head  emerged 
from  the  water  again,  and  William  caught  hold  of 
the  boat. 

"Let  go  the  rod.  Master  Archie,"  said  he,  "and 
catch  hold  of  the  boat." 

"But  there's  a  fish  on  it,"  spluttered  Archie. 

"Do  as  I  tell  you,  sir,"  said  William  quite  crossly. 

Archie  had  been  told  that  when  he  went  out  in 
the  boat  with  William,  he  had  to  do  precisely  as 
William  told  him.  He  was  not,  it  is  true,  in  the 
boat  at  the  moment,  but  the  injunction  probably 
applied.  So  he  let  go  of  the  rod,  and  the  moment 
afterwards  found  himself  violently  propelled  over 
the  side  of  the  boat,  and  tumbled  all  aboard  on  the 
floor  of  it.  They  were  but  a  dozen  yards  from  land, 
and  William,  having  once  got  Archie  into  the  boat, 
grabbed  hold  of  the  rod  with  his  spare  hand  and 
swam  shoving  the  boat  in  front  of  him. 

"Oh,  well  done,  William.  Oh  William,  I  love 
you,"  screamed  Archie  when,  having  righted  him- 
self, he  observed  this  brilUant  manoeuvre.  "Is  the 
fish  there  still?" 

William  scrambled  up  the  bank,  still  holding  the 
rod. 

"Run  indoors  at  once.  Master  Archie,"  he  said. 
"Don't  wait  a  moment." 

"But,  William,  is  the  fish "  began  Archie. 

"Do  as  I  tell  you,  sir,"  said  William  again.  "I'll 
bring  the  fish  for  you,  if  I  get  him." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  25 

Archie  ran  with  backward  glances  across  the  lawn, 
where,  half-way,  he  was  met  by  Blessington  who 
had  observed  the  accident  out  of  the  windows,  and 
before  he  could  explain  half  the  thrilling  things  that 
had  happened  was  undressed  and  rubbed  down  and 
put  between  blankets.  And  then  after  a  few  min- 
utes, m  came  William,  having  also  changed  his 
clothes,  with  a  great  pike,  and  his  father  followed 
and  shook  hands  with  William,  and  his  mother  did 
the  same,  saying  things  that  made  William  blush 
and  stand  first  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other 
murmuring:  "It  was  nothing  at  all,  my  lady,"  and 
Archie  asked  if  he  and  William  might  go  out  again 
that  afternoon,  and  catch  another  pike.  Then  in 
came  his  younger  sister  Jeannie,  who  was  only  two 
years  his  senior.  She  appeared  to  be  on  the  point 
of  crying,  and  she  flung  her  arms  round  Archie's 
neck  in  an  uncomfortable  sort  of  way,  and  Archie 
told  her  she  was  messing  him.  After  that,  in  reac- 
tion from  those  thrilling  affairs,  he  felt  suddenly 
tired,  and  being  encouraged  to  go  to  sleep,  nestled 
down  in  the  blankets  and  woke  up  to  find  that  there 
was  his  fish  stuffed  for  dinner,  and  for  himself  and 
William  an  era  of  unexampled  popularity.  Archie 
did  not  understand  at  the  time  why  he  had  suddenly 
blossomed  into  such  favouritism,  unless  it  was  for 
having  clung  tight  to  his  father's  fishing-rod,  but  he 
enjoyed  it  immensely.  It  was  pleasant  too,  not  long 
afterwards,  to  be  given  a  gold  watch  by  his  father, 
to  present  to  William,  with  a  gold  chain  provided 
by  his  mother.  And  William  permitted  him  to  put 
the  gold  watch  into  one  waistcoat  pocket,  and  the 
end  of  the  gold  chain  into  the  other,  and  his  father 
and  mother  and  Jeannie  all  shook  hands  with  Wil- 
liam again  (every  one  seemed  to  be  spending  their 


26  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

time  in  shaking  hands  with  William).  So  Archie, 
since  William  was  his  friend  more  than  anybody 
else's,  kissed  him,  in  order  to  mark  the  difference 
between  himself  and  other  people  with  regard  to 
him.  He  was  surprised  to  find  that  William  had 
got  a  soft  cheek  like  his  mother's,  and  supposed  that 
men's  faces  grew  hard  as  they  grew  older.  He  in- 
stantly mentioned  this  surprising  fact,  and  William 
appeared  rather  glad  to  leave  the  room.  But  in  all 
Archie's  life  no  event  ever  occurred  which  ap- 
proached the  splendour  and  public  magnificence  of 
this  whole  experience. 

Every  day  the  world  widened,  and  lying  looking 
at  the  green  light  on  the  ceiling  in  the  cool  still 
mornings  of  that  summer  which  seemed  to  last  for 
years  and  years,  Archie  found  himself  not  only 
speculating  on  what  fresh  joys  the  day  would  bring, 
but  joining  together  in  his  mind  the  happenings 
that  at  the  time  seemed  disconnected,  but  which 
proved  to  be  part  of  a  continuous  thread  of  exis- 
tence. Just  as  the  nursery  passage,  and  the  steep 
stairs,  and  his  father's  rooms,  and  the  lawn  and  the 
lake  passed  from  being  isolated  phenomena  into 
pieces  of  a  whole,  so  things  that  happened  proved  to 
be  the  experiences  of  the  person  who  was  known  to 
others  as  Archie  Morris,  and  to  Archie  as  himself. 
Sometimes  he  so  tingled  with  vigour  when  he  woke 
that  contrary  to  orders  he  stepped  out  of  bed,  and 
leaned  out  of  the  window  to  look  at  the  bright  dewy 
world,  with  one  ear  alert  to  hear  Blessington's  foot 
along  the  passage,  in  order  to  leap  back  into  bed 
again,  for  now  he  had  the  night-nursery  to  himself, 
and  Blessington  slept  next  door.  At  that  hour  the 
lawn  would  be  covered  with  a  shimmering  grey 
mantle,  pearl-coloured,  and  here  and  there  a  few 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  27 

diamonds  had  got  in  by  mistake  which  shone  with 
just  the  brilliance  of  his  mother's  necklace.  Per- 
haps these  were  the  bed-clothes  of  the  lawn,  and 
when  day  came,  they  were  covered  over  by  the  green 
bed-spread  like  that  which  lay  on  his  own  bed.  The 
lake  away  to  the  right  had  different  bed-clothes, 
thicker  ones,  but  of  the  same  colour.  No  doubt 
they  were  thicker  because  the  lake  was  colder.  On 
some  mornings  he  could  not  see  through  them  at  all. 
To  the  left  out  of  the  other  window  rose  the  wood 
where  the  rabbits  hved :  sometimes  one  of  them,  an 
early  riser  hke  Archie,  would  have  found  a  gap  in 
the  netting  and  would  be  out  on  the  lawn  nibbling 
the  grass.  The  gardener  did  not  approve  of  that, 
for  the  lawn  it  appeared  belonged  to  the  people  who 
lived  in  Archie's  house,  and  not  to  the  folk  in  the 
wood,  and  this  was  a  trespass  on  the  part  of  the 
rabbits,  for  which  the  punishment,  rather  a  severe 
one,  was  death  by  shooting.  This  had  added  a  new 
terror  to  the  notice  in  another  wood  where  he  and 
Blessington  sometimes  walked,  which  announced 
that  trespassers  would  be  prosecuted.  Blessington 
was  foolhardy  enough  to  disregard  that  notice  al- 
together, saying  that  it  was  his  Daddy's  notice,  and 
didn't  apply  to  them,  but  for  some  time  Archie  never 
chose  that  walk  for  fear  that  Blessington  might  be 
wrong  about  it,  and  that  they  would  meet  somebody 
in  the  wood  who  would  instantly  shoot  them  both 
for  trespassing.  But  in  childish  fashion  he  kept 
those  terrors  to  himself,  sooner  than  enquire  about 
them,  till  one  day  they  actually  did  meet  in  that 
wood  a  man  with  a  gun.  Then  in  a  sudden  wild  ter- 
ror Archie  clung  to  Blessington,  crying  out,  "Oh,  ask 
him  not  to  shoot  us  this  time!" 

"Eh,  darling,"  said  Blessington.    "Who's  going  to 


28  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

shoot  us?    It's  only  one  of  your  Daddy's  keepers." 
"No,   but  he  will   shoot  us/'   screamed   Archie. 
"We're  trespassers,  and  he'll  shoot  us  like  the  rab- 
bits." 

Matters  being  thereupon  explained,  and  Archie 
convinced  that  he  and  Blessington  were  not  going 
to  be  shot  for  trespassing,  Archie  found  that  he  could 
make  up  for  himself  an  entrancing  story  of  how 
Master  Rabbit  and  his  nurse  (who  were  good) 
never  trespassed  on  the  lawn,  and  that  the  rabbits 
he  saw  there  corresponded  to  Grandmamma  Tinta- 
gel,  and  so  he  did  not  care  whether  they  were  shot 
or  not. 

These  stories  he  told  himself  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, looking  out  onto  the  lawn,  or  lying  curled  up  on 
his  back  in  bed,  looking  at  the  green  ceiling,  were 
not  vague  dreamlike  imaginings,  but  were  endowed 
with  a  vividness  that  made  Blessington's  entry  with 
his  bath  and  his  clothes  seem  less  real  than  they. 
It  became  impossible  indeed  for  him  to  disentangle 
reality  (as  judged  by  people  like  his  father  and  the 
gardener)  from  imagination.  He  told  himself  so 
strongly  that  there  was  Grandmamma  Tintagel 
sitting  on  the  lawn,  trespassing  and  nibbling  grass 
for  her  breakfast,  that  her  presence  there,  or  her 
absence  when  there  was  no  trespassing  rabbit,  be- 
came things  as  vivid  as  his  subsequent  dressing  and 
breakfast.  Had  he  been  definitely  asked  if  he  be- 
lieved it  was  Grandmamma  Tintagel,  he  would  have 
said  "No,"  but  in  his  imaginative  life,  so  hard  for  a 
child  to  dissociate  from  his  real  life,  there  was  no 
question  as  to  her  identity.  It  happened  also  that 
at  this  time  his  mother  was  reading  to  him  the 
realest  of  all  books;  namely  "Alice  in  Wonderland." 
No  imaginative  boy  of  five  could  possibly  doubt  the 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  29 

actual  existence  of  the  White  Rabbit  in  that  con- 
vincing history,  and  Archie  would  not  have  been 
surprised  if  one  morning  there  had  proved  to  be  a 
white  rabbit  sitting  by  the  fence  who  looked  at  his 
watch  and  put  on  his  gloves.  Yet  he  never  spoke 
of  this  possibility  even  to  Blessington  or  William :  it 
did  not  belong  to  the  sphere  of  things  about  which 
it  was  reasonable  to  converse  to  grown-up  people, 
simply  because  they  were  stupid,  he  felt,  about  cer- 
tain matters  and  would  not  understand  him.  Grand- 
mamma Tintagel  and  the  fact  that  sometimes  she 
sat  on  the  lawn  in  the  early  morning  were  among 
the  topics  which  he  kept  quite  completely  to  himself. 
There  were  other  such  topics.  Sometimes  when 
he  lay  in  bed,  waiting  for  Blessington  to  call  him, 
and  did  not  choose  to  get  up  and  look  out  of  the 
window,  it  was  because  those  other  secret  affairs 
engaged  him.  If  he  lay  still,  and  stared  at  the 
green-hued  ceiling,  curious  waves  of  shadow  ap- 
peared to  pass  over  it,  and  it  seemed  like  that  sunny 
floor  of  water  that  had  closed  above  his  head  on  the 
morning  when  he  fell  out  of  the  boat.  There  was 
he  lying  in  bed  deep  below  some  surface  of  liquid 
light  that  cut  him  off  from  the  outer  world,  and  he 
wondered  if  in  a  moment  a  splayed  starfish  of  arms 
and  legs,  which  turned  out  to  be  William,  would 
dive  down  for  him,  and  bring  him  up  among  the 
common  things  again.  But  William  never  made  this 
impressive  entry  through  the  ceiling,  and  if  he  stared 
long  enough  Archie  only  seemed  to  himself  to  slip 
down  and  down,  gently  and  rapturously,  through 
deep  water,  and  another  world,  the  world  of  hidden 
things  that  dwelt  below  the  surface,  came  slowly 
into  existence,  like  as  when  on  mounting  a  slope 
fresh  valleys  and  hillsides  arise  and  unfurl  them- 


30  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

selves.  Only  in  this  case  you  had  to  go  down  some- 
where inside  yourself  to  become  aware  of  them. 
And  something,  some  inner  consciousness,  recognised 
and  hailed  them.  It  was  not  that  he  was  getting 
sleepy,  and  sinking  into  the  waters  of  dreams,  rather 
the  experience  was  the  result  of  a  more  vivid  life 
and  awakened  perceptions.  But  he  never  got  fur- 
ther than  that,  and  during  the  day  he  was  far  too 
busy  with  the  affairs  of  normal  life  to  trouble  about 
those  perceptions  that  dawned  on  him  early  on 
still  quiet  mornings  when  he  lay  a-bed  and  stared 
at  the  ceiling  with  its  flickering  green  lights  and 
moving  shadows. 


CHAPTER  II 

Archie's  birthday  was  in  November,  and  for  a 
day  or  two  before  that  tremendous  annual  event, 
there  was  always  a  certain  atmosphere  of  mystery 
abroad,  which  he  was  conscious  of  at  odd  minutes. 
He  met  Marjorie  on  the  morning  of  the  day  before 
he  would  be  six  walking  down  the  nursery  passage 
with  a  parcel  in  her  hand,  the  contents  of  which 
she  would  not  divulge.  That  afternoon,  too,  his 
mother  drove  into  the  neighbouring  town  in  the 
motor,  and  would  not  take  him  with  her,  on  the 
excuse  that  she  had  some  shopping  to  do,  though  it 
was  the  commonest  thing  in  the  world  for  her  to 
take  him  with  her  when  she  went  shopping.  This 
year  he  vaguely  connected  these  odd  happenings 
with  his  birthday,  as  he  did  also  the  fact  that  a 
week  ago  Blessington  had  brought  a  total  stranger 
into  the  nursery,  who  had  very  politely  asked  him 
to  take  off  his  coat.  The  stranger  had  then  knelt 
down  on  the  floor  in  front  of  him,  and  had  pro- 
duced a  tape,  with  which  he  proceeded  to  measure 
Archie  all  over,  from  his  hip  to  his  knee  and  his 
knee  to  his  ankle,  and  round  his  waist,  and  round 
his  chest,  and  all  along  his  arms,  making  notes  of 
those  things  in  a  book.  Blessington  had  told  him 
that  Mr.  Johnson  wanted  to  see  how  much  he  had 
grown,  which  was  certainly  a  very  gratifying  atten- 
tion, especially  since  Archie  had  grown  a  good  deal, 
and  was  extremely  proud  of  the  fact.    Mr.  Johnson 

31 


32  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

congratulated  him  too,  and  said  that  he  hadn't 
grown  as  much  as  that  for  many  a  year,  and  tried 
to  account  for  his  visit  on  general  grounds  of  in- 
terest in  Archie.  But  in  spite  of  that  Archie  con- 
nected this  call  with  his  birthday,  though  he  did 
not  arrive  at  the  deduction  that  it  meant  clothes. 

His  mother  came  up  to  tea  in  the  nursery  on  her 
return  from  her  mysterious  drive,  and  said  that  she 
had  just  caught  sight  of  the  fairy  Abracadabra  as 
she  drove  down  the  High  Street :  she  had  not  known 
Abracadabra  was  in  the  neighbourhood.  She  asked 
Archie  if  Abracadabra  had  called  while  she  was  out, 
and  Archie,  after  a  moment's  pause,  said  that  he 
hadn't  seen  her  .  .  .  but  in  that  pause  something 
of  the  glory  faded  out  of  the  bright  trailing  clouds. 
When  he  was  asked  that  directly  he  did  not  feel 
sure  whether  he  believed  in  Abracadabra  in  the  same 
way  in  which  he  believed  in  Blessington  or  Jeannie. 
So  short  a  time  ago — last  summer  only — Alice  in 
Wonderland  and  the  identity  of  Grandmamma  Tin- 
tagel  had  been  so  much  realler  than  the  paltry  hap- 
penings that  took  place  in  the  light  of  common  day. 
Now,  quite  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  at  the  mere 
question  as  to  whether  he  had  seen  Abracadabra 
they  all  began  to  fade:  indeed,  it  was  more  than 
fading,  it  was  as  if  they  passed  out  of  sight  behind 
a  comer. 

Archie  had  been  told  that  he  must  never,  if  he 
could  help  it,  hurt  people's  feelings.  The  particular 
occasion  when  that  had  been  brought  home  to  him 
was  when  his  sister  Jeannie  had  to  wear  a  rather 
delightful  sort  of  band  round  her  front  teeth,  which 
showed  a  tendency  to  grow  crooked.  She  was  shy 
about  it  and  hoped  nobody  saw  it,  and  when  Archie 
called  the  attention  of  the  public  to  it,  she  turned 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  33 

very  red.  He  had  not  had  the  least  intention  of 
embarrassing  her,  for  he  thought  the  band  rather 
nice  himself,  and  would  have  liked  to  have  had  one 
had  his  teeth  been  sufficiently  advanced  for  such  a 
decoration.  But  on  this  occasion  he  saw  instantly 
and  clearly  that  he  must  not  hurt  his  mother's  feel- 
ings by  expressing  scepticism  about  Abracadabra. 
Perhaps  his  mother  still  believed  in  her  herself 
(though  there  were  difficulties  about  supposing  that, 
seeing  that  if  Abracadabra  was  not  Abracadabra 
she  was  certainly  his  mother),  but  in  any  case  she 
thought  Archie  believed  in  Abracadabra,  which 
made  quite  sufficient  reason  for  his  appearing  to  do 
so.  If  Abracadabra  was  an  invention  designed  to 
awe,  delight  and  mystify  him,  the  most  elementary 
obligation  of  not  embarrassing  other  people  enjoined 
on  him  that  he  must  be  awed,  delighted  and  mysti- 
fied. Perhaps  by  next  year  something  would  have 
happened  to  Abracadabra  for  now-a-days  she  only 
made  her  appearance  on  his  birthday,  whereas  he 
could  remember  when  she  paid  Jeannie  also  a  birth- 
day visit.  But  this  year  she  had  not  come  on  Jean- 
nie's  birthday,  and  the  various  members  of  tlie 
family  had  given  her  birthday  presents  themselves, 
which  did  not  happen  when  Abracadabra  came,  for 
she  was  the  only  dispenser  of  offerings. 

So  Archie  replied  that  Abracadabra  had  not  been 
during  his  mother's  absence,  and  in  order  to  spare 
his  mother  the  mortification  of  knowing  that  he  had 
doubts  about  that  benevolent  fairy,  laid  himself  out 
to  ask  intelligent  questions. 

"Why  didn't  you  speak  to  her,  Mummie,"  he  said, 
"when  you  saw  her  in  the  High  Street?"   " 

"Because  she  was  in  a  hurry:  she  went  by  like  a 
flash  of  lightning,  in  her  pearl  chariot." 


34  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"Was  there  any  thunder?"  asked  he. 

"Yes,  just  one  clap:  but  that  might  have  been 
the  wheels  of  the  chariot.  What  do  you  think  she'll 
bring  you?" 

Archie  was  holding  his  mother's  hand,  and  slip- 
ping her  rings  up  and  down  her  fingers.  As  he  held 
it,  he  suddenly  became  aware  what  one  of  these 
presents  would  be. 

"A  clock-work  train,"  he  said  quickly. 

He  knew  more  than  that  about  the  clock-work 
train.  He  felt  perfectly  certain  that  it  was  in  his 
mother's  bedroom  at  this  moment,  reposing  in  the 
big  cupboard  where  she  kept  her  dresses. 

"Do  you  want  a  clock-work  train?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  Mummie,  frightfully,"  said  he,  feeling  that 
he  was  playing  a  part,  for  he  knew  his  mother  knew 
that  he  wanted  a  clock-work  train. 

"What  else?" 

"Oh,  thousands  of  things.  Particularly  a  pen  that 
writes  without  your  dipping  it  in  the  ink." 

"Well,  if  I  were  you  I  should  write  down  all  the 
things  you  want,  and  leave  the  paper  lying  on  your 
counterpane  when  you  go  to  sleep." 

"What'll  that  do?"  asked  Archie. 

"It's  the  fairy-post.  Instead  of  putting  letters 
into  boxes  to  be  posted  when  you  want  them  to 
reach  the  fairies,  you  have  to  put  them  always  on 
your  bed.  Mind  you  address  it  to  Her  Fairy  Maj- 
esty the  Empress  Abracadabra.  Then  when  the 
fairies  come  round  to  collect  the  post  they  will  find 
it  there,  and  take  it  to  Abracadabra.  And  perhaps 
if  she  comes  to-morrow — let  me  see,  it  must  be  a 
year  since  she  was  here — she  will  bring  a  few  things 
for  your  birthday.  I  can't  tell:  but  I  think  that 
is  the  best  chance  of  getting  them." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  35 

Certainly  this  seemed  a  very  pleasant  sort  of 
plan;  Archie  had  never  heard  of  it  before  and  the 
extremely  matter-of-fact  tone  in  which  his  Mother 
spoke,  ht  again  a  dawning  hope  in  his  mind  that  per- 
haps it  was  all  true.  Why  shouldn't  there  be  a  fairy 
Abracadabra,  and  a  fairy-post,  just  as  there  had 
been,  and  now  was  no  longer,  a  glassy  sea  between 
the  rugs  in  the  hall,  and  snarling  tigers  to  keep  off 
his  enemies?  If  you  beUeved  a  thing  enough,  it 
became  real,  with  a  few  trifling  exceptions,  as,  for 
instance,  when,  on  one  of  the  days  last  summer,  a 
day  crammed  full  of  the  most  delightful  events, 
Archie  had  found  himself  firmly  believing  that  that 
particular  day  was  never  coming  to  an  end.  True, 
it  had  come  to  an  end,  but  that  perhaps  was  because 
he  hadn't  believed  strongly  enough.  There  was  a 
lovely  story  which  his  mother  had  read  him  about 
a  man  called  Joshua  who  wanted  a  day  to  remain 
until  he  had  killed  all  his  enemies,  and  sure  enough 
the  sun  stood  still  until  he  had  accomplished  that 
emphatic  task.  He  never  doubted  that  because  it 
came  out  of  the  Bible,  and  in  the  spirit  of  Joshua 
he  set  himself  now  to  believe  in  Abracadabra  and 
the  fairy-post.  And  with  that  in  his  mind,  he  kept 
his  eyes  firmly  away  from  the  cupboard  where  his 
mother  kept  her  dresses  that  evening,  when  her  maid 
opened  it,  lest  he  should  see  there  the  parcel  which 
he  felt  secretly  convinced  was  there,  and  contained 
the  clock-work  train  which  his  mother  had  bought, 
and  which  Abracadabra  would  to-morrow  assuredly 
bring  out  of  the  basket  of  pure  gold  with  which  she 
habitually  travelled. 

Archie  put  the  letter  for  the  fairy-post  on  his 
bed,  and  determined  to  keep  awake  so  that  he 
should  see  the  fairy  postman  come  for  it.     It  was 


36  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

a  very  cold  night,  and  a  big  fire  burned  in  his  grate, 
so  that  though  the  windows  as  usual  were  all  open, 
there  was  a  clear  brisk  warmth  about  the  room  and 
a  frosty  and  soapy  smell,  for  his  bright  brown  hair 
had  been  washed  that  night, — this  was  a  special 
evening  bath-night,  for  by  now  baths  had  been 
promoted  to  the  morning — and  stuck  up  all  over 
his  head  in  a  novel  and  independent  manner.  Bless- 
ington  had  dried  it  by  the  fire  for  him  with  hot  tow- 
els, and  a  very  extraordinary  thing  had  happened, 
for  when  she  brushed  it  afterwards  it  gave  forth 
little  cracklings,  which  she  told  him  was  electricity, 
which  was  the  thing  that  made  the  lamps  burn. 
She  had  allowed  him  to  take  a  brush  to  bed  with 
him,  and  make  more  cracklings  for  five  minutes  until 
she  returned  to  put  his  light  out,  and  Archie  made 
a  wonderful  story  to  himself  as  he  looked  at  the 
fire,  that  he  would  get  an  electric  lamp  and  paste  it 
to  his  head,  so  that  he  should  be  able  to  read  by 
the  light  of  his  hair.  All  at  once  this  seemed  so 
feasible,  so  easy  of  belief  that  he  pictured  to  him- 
self everybody  walking  about  the  house  in  the 
evening  lit  by  themselves.  .  .  .  And  then  William 
came  round  the  corner  (he  did  not  know  what  cor- 
ner) carrying  an  electric  pike  for  a  birthday  pres- 
ent to  himself,  and  when  Blessington  stole  in  five 
minutes  afterwards,  Archie's  brush  had  slipped 
from  his  fingers,  and  his  breath  came  evenly  be- 
tween his  parted  lips.  There  was  a  gap  in  his  front 
teeth  because  a  tooth  had  come  out  only  to-day,  em- 
bedded in  a  piece  of  toffee  he  was  eating,  which  had 
made  Archie  squeal  with  laughter,  for  here  was  a 
new  substance  called  tooth-toffee.  .  .  .  And  Bless- 
ington softly  lifted  his  arm  and  laid  it  under  the 
bed-clothes  without  awaking  him,   and  looked  at 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  37 

him  a  moment  with  her  old  face  beaming  with  love, 
and  laid  down  on  his  chair  out  of  sight  at  the  bot- 
tom of  his  bed,  the  new  sailor-suit  and  took  away 
the  note  to  her  Fairy  Majesty  the  Empress  Abraca- 
dabra. 

Archie  woke  next  morning  and  instantly  remem- 
bered that  he  had  attained  the  magnificent  age  of 
six.  Six  had  long  seemed  to  him  one  of  the  most 
delightful  ages  to  be.  Eighteen  was  another,  mainly 
because  William  was  eighteen,  but  six  was  the  best 
of  all,  for  at  eighteen  you  must  inevitably  feel  that 
you  have  lived  your  life,  and  that  there  is  nothing 
much  left  to  live  for:  for  the  rest  would  be  but  a 
slow  descent  into  the  vale  of  tears.  But  to-day 
he  was  six,  and  it  was  his  birthday,  and  .  .  .  and 
there  was  no  sign  of  the  letter  he  had  written  to 
Abracadabra  on  his  counterpane.  But  it  might  have 
slipped  onto  the  floor,  and  not  have  been  taken 
away  by  fairies  after  all.  Or  it  might  have  slipped 
over  the  bottom  of  the  bed,  and  Archie  got  up  to 
see.  No;  there  was  no  note  there,  but  on  the  chair 
at  the  foot  of  his  bed  was  a  suit  of  sailor-clothes. . . . 

Archie  gave  a  gasp :  certainly  their  presence  there 
constituted  a  possibility  that  they  were  for  him,  but 
he  hardly  dared  let  himself  contemplate  so  dazzling 
a  prospect,  for  fear  it  should  be  whisked  out  of 
sight.  Yet  who  could  they  be  for,  if  not  for  him? 
They  couldn't  be  Blessington's  for  she  was  a  female 
and  wore  mystery-cloaking  skirts.  Sailor-suits  were 
boys'  clothes:  Harry  Travers,  the  son  of  a  neigh- 
bouring squire,  aged  eight,  had  a  sailor-suit, — it 
was  the  thing  that  Archie  most  envied  about  that 
young  man.  Harry  had  taken  the  coat  and  trousers 
off  one  day  in  the  summer  when  the  two  boys  were 
playing  in  the  copse  by  the  lower  end  of  the  lake, 


38  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

and  had  let  Archie  put  them  on  for  three  minutes. 
That  had  been  a  thrilling  adventure,  it  implied  un- 
dressing out  of  doors,  which  was  a  very  unusual 
thing  to  do,  and  he  loved  the  feeling  of  the  rough 
serge  down  his  bare  calves.  He  had  of  course  of- 
fered Harry  the  privilege  of  putting  on  his  knicker- 
bockers and  jacket,  if  he  could  get  into  them  with- 
out splitting  them,  but  Harry  from  that  Pisgah- 
summit  of  eight  years  had  no  desire  to  go  back  to 
the  childish  things  of  the  land  of  bondage,  but  had 
danced  about  bare-legged  while  Archie  enjoyed  his 
three  minutes  in  these  voluminous  and  grown-up 
lendings.  And  now  perhaps  for  him,  too,  not  for 
three  minutes  only,  but  for  every  day  .  .  .  and  he 
took  a  leap  back  into  bed  again  as  Blessington's 
tread  sounded  on  the  boards  outside. 

Archie  pretended  to  be  asleep,  for  he  wanted  to  be 
awakened  by  Blessington  and  hear  his  birthday 
greetings.  He  loved  the  return  of  consciousness  in 
the  morning — when  he  had  not  already  been  awake, 
and  speculating  about  Grandmamma  Tintagel  on 
the  lawn — to  find  Blessington  with  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder  gently  stirring  him,  and  her  face  close  to 
his,  whispering  to  him,  "Eh,  it's  time  to  get  up."  So 
this  morning,  not  for  the  first  time,  he  simulated 
sleep  in  order  to  recapture  that  lovely  sense  of 
being  awakened  by  love.  (You  must  understand 
that  he  did  not  put  it  to  himself  like  that,  for 
Archie,  just  at  the  age  of  six  was  not  a  mature  and 
self-conscious  prig,  but  he  wanted  to  know  what 
Blessington's  greeting  to  him  would  be,  when  she 
thought  she  woke  him  up  on  the  morning  of  his 
sixth  birthday.) 

From  the  narrow  chink  of  his  eyelids  not  quite 
closed,  he  could  see  some  of  her  movements.    She 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  39 

took  the  exciting  suit  of  sailor-clothes  from  the  bot- 
tom of  his  bed,  and  laid  it  on  the  chair  where  she 
always  put  his  clothes  with  a  vest  on  top  of  it  and 
— oh,  and — a  flannel  shirt  of  a  quite  unusual  shape, 
and  his  socks  on  top.  Already  Archie  had  heart- 
burnings at  the  knowledge  of  his  knowledge  of  the 
sailor-suit.  Blessington  meant  it  to  be  a  surprise 
to  him,  and  a  surprise  he  determined  it  should  be. 
In  the  interval  there  was  another  surprise:  how 
would  Blessington  wake  him?  She  would  be  sure 
to  rise  to  the  immense  importance  of  the  occasion. 
She  moved  quietly  about:  she  shut  the  windows, 
and  brought  in  his  bath.  And  then  she  came  close 
up  to  his  bed.  He  felt  her  hand  stealing  under- 
neath the  bed-clothes  to  his  shoulder  and  she  shook 
it  gently— "Eh,  Master  Six/'  she  said. 

Oh,  she  had  done  exactly  the  right  thing!  She 
had  divined  Archie,  as  he  had  divined  himself, 
knowing  himself.  That  was  just  the  only  thing  to 
think  about  this  morning.  He  ceased  to  imagine: 
Blessington  out  of  her  simplicity  of  love  had  given 
the  real  birthday  greeting. 

He  rolled  a  little  sideways,  and  there  was  her  face 
close  to  his,  and  her  hand  still  underneath  his  bed- 
clothes. He  put  up  both  of  his  hands  and  caught 
it. 

"Many  happery  turns,"  said  Blessington.  "Wake 
up,  my  darling:  it's  your  birthday.  Happery  turns," 
she  repeated. 

Archie  released  her  hand  and  flung  his  arm  round 
her  neck. 

"Oh,  Blessington,  isn't  it  fun?"  he  said.  "What 
did  you  do,  when  you  were  six?" 

"I  got  up  directly,"  said  Blessington,  kissing  him, 
"and  had  my  bath  and  put  my  clothes  on.     Now, 


40  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

will  you  do  the  same,  for  I'm  going  downstairs  for 
ten  minutes,  and  then  I  shall  be  back." 

"All  right,"  said  Archie. 

She  went  out,  and  Archie  again,  as  with  the  ques- 
tion of  Abracadabra  last  night,  felt  he  must  make 
it  a  surprise  to  her  that  there  were  sailor-clothes  on 
his  chair.  It  was  quite  likely  that  he  would  not  be 
supposed  to  notice  them,  and  so  he  stripped  off  his 
night-shirt,  and  took  his  bath  in  the  prescribed 
manner.  He  had  to  lie  down  on  the  floor  first  of 
all,  and  wave  his  legs  about;  then  he  had  to  stand 
upright  still  with  no  clothes  on,  and  put  his  hands 
each  side  of  his  waist,  and  wave  his  body  about  eight 
times  in  each  direction.  Then  he  was  allowed  to 
pour  out  the  hot  water  into  his  bath,  in  order  to 
encourage  himself,  but  before  he  stepped  into  that 
delicious  steamy  warmth  he  had  to  bend  down  eight 
times  with  a  long  frosty  expulsion  of  breath,  and 
stand  up  eight  times  with  a  great  draught  of  cold 
air  in  his  lungs.  All  this  had  been  explained  to 
him  by  a  stranger — not  Mr.  Johnson — who,  a  year 
ago  had  come  into  his  nursery  and  had  been  very 
much  interested  in  his  anatomy.  Archie  understood 
that  this  was  a  doctor,  though  he  didn't  give  him 
any  medicine  but  had  merely  showed  him  how  to  do 
these  things,  after  first  putting  a  sort  of  plug  on 
Archie's  chest  which  communicated  with  two  other 
plugs  that  the  stranger  put  in  his  ears.  Then 
Archie  had  to  say  "Ninety-nine"  several  times, 
which  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  game,  though  it  didn't 
lead  any  further,  (the  doctor,  for  instance,  didn't 
say  "a  hundred")  and  then  he  had  to  promise  to 
practice  those  contortions  every  morning. 

All  this  was  done,  and  Archie  fled  from  the  cold 
of  the  morning  to  his  bath.    The  water  was  of  that 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  41 

divinest  temperature  so  that  when  he  stopped  still 
it  was  lovely,  but  when  he  moved  he  almost 
screamed  with  the  rapturous  heat  of  it.  It  cooled  a 
little  as  he  sat  in  it,  and  still  remembering  that  he 
was  six,  he  poured  a  sponge  full  down  his  spine. 
That  over,  he  might  wash  his  clean  face  and  his 
neck  and  well  behind  his  ears  with  soap.  Up  till  a 
few  months  ago  Blessington  had  always  superin- 
tended the  bath,  and  done  these  things  for  him,  but 
now  he  did  them  for  himself  as  agent,  with  Blessing- 
ton  as  Inspector  General  in  the  background,  who 
might  always  make  the  strictest  scrutiny  into  the 
place  behind  the  ears,  and  the  toe-nails  to  see  that 
the  effects  of  the  bath  were  perfectly  satisfactory. 
If  not,  Blessington  superintended  again  for  the 
next  three  mornings,  so  Archie  was  very  careful, 
since  it  was  so  much  grander  to  wash  oneself  than 
to  be  washed  by  anybody  else. 

Then  came  the  most  exciting  part  of  the  bath, 
for  close  at  the  side  of  it  was  a  big  tin  full  of  the 
coldest  possible  water.  He  had  then  to  stand  up  in 
his  bath  and  after  washing  his  face  in  the  cold 
water,  to  put  cold  water  everywhere  within  reach 
of  him,  on  one  arm  and  then  the  other,  on  a  chest, 
on  a  stomach,  on  one  leg  and  on  another  right  down 
to  the  foot,  and  finally  (a  vocal  piece)  to  squeeze 
a  full  sponge  down  his  back.  Archie  squealed  at 
this,  and  flew  for  a  towel. 

He  flung  himself  into  his  new  clothes  and  was 
already  half  dressed  when  Blessington  returned. 

"Oh  Blessington,"  he  said,  "they're  just  as  easy 
to  manage  as  the  old  ones,  and  may  I  go  to  see 
Harry  after  breakfast  and  show  him?" 

"Master  Harry  will  be  here  for  tea,"  said  Bless- 
ington. 


42  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

''Yes,  but  I  want  him  to  know  sooner  than  that. 
Did  they  come  just  ordinarily  like  other  clothes? 
Or  are  they  a  birthday  present?" 

''Well,  I  should  say  they  were  a  birthday  pres- 
ent," said  Blessington. 

"Who  from?"  demanded  Archie. 

And  then  suddenly  he  guessed. 

"Oh,  Blessington,"  he  said.  "I  like  them  better 
than  anything!" 

"Well,  dear,  and  I  wish  you  health  to  wear  them, 
and  strength  to  tear  them,"  she  said.  "Eh,  but  how 
you're  disarranging  my  cap." 

Archie  promptly  handselled  his  clothes  by  spill- 
ing egg  on  the  coat,  and  bread  and  butter  upside 
down  on  the  trousers,  and  when  the  time  came  for 
him  to  make  his  public  entry  into  the  world  was 
seized  with  a  sudden  fit  of  shyness  at  the  thought 
of  anybody  seeing  him.  The  housemaid  would 
stare,  and  William  would  laugh,  and  Marjorie  would 
pretend  not  to  know  him,  and  for  the  moment  of 
leaving  the  day-nursery  (which  from  this  morning 
was  to  be  known  as  Archie's  sitting-room)  he  would 
almost  have  wished  himself  back  in  his  knickerbock- 
ers. But  the  remembered  rough  touch  of  the  serge 
on  his  legs  provided  encouragement,  and  soon  the 
new  glories  burst  upon  a  sympathetic  and  not  a 
mocking  world.  They  were  at  breakfast  downstairs, 
and  Archie,  though  he  had  already  had  his,  was 
bidden  by  his  father  to  have  a  cup  of  coffee,  which 
he  poured  out  himself  at  the  side-table,  and  to 
drink  it  slowly,  and  at  the  bottom  of  it,  among  the 
melted  sugar  there  came  to  his  astonished  eyes  the 
gleam  of  silver,  and  there  was  a  new  half-crown 
with  his  father's  happy  returns.  Thereafter  came 
a  hurried  visit  to  Harry,  a  motor  drive  with  his 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  43 

mother  and  Jeannie,  Archie  sitting  on  the  box-seat 
and  permitted  to  blow  the  bugle  practically  as  often 
as  he  wanted,  and  the  return  to  dinner,  to  find  that 
the  two  things  he  liked  best,  namely,  boiled  rabbit 
and  spotted  dog  pudding,  formed  that  memorable 
repast. 

Up  till  now  he  had  received  only  two  birthday 
presents,  the  clothes  and  the  half-crown,  and  he 
could  not  help  feeling  that  a  visit  from  Abracadabra 
was  more  than  likely,  since  no  one  else  had  made 
the  slightest  allusion  to  clock-work  trains  or  pens 
that  wrote  without  being  dipped.  But  in  the  after- 
noon as  he  returned  home  from  his  walk  with  Bless- 
ington  and  Jeannie  in  the  early  dusk,  he  received 
an  impression  which  was  to  be  more  inextricably 
connected  with  his  sixth  birthday  than  even  the 
sailor-suit.  They  were  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
front-door,  when  there  ran  out  of  the  bushes  Cyrus, 
the  great  blue  Persian  cat.  He  held  something  in 
his  mouth,  which  Archie  saw  to  be  a  bird.  There 
he  stood  for  a  moment  with  the  gleaming  eyes  of 
the  successful  hunter  and  twitching  tail,  and  then 
ran  in  front  of  them  towards  the  porch.  Simulta- 
neously Jeannie  called  out: 

"Oh,  Blessington,  Cyrus  has  caught  a  thrush. 
We  must  get  it  from  him:  it  may  be  still  alive." 

Till  then  Archie  had  only  thought  about  the 
cleverness  of  Cyrus  in  catching  a  bird,  which  was 
clearly  a  very  remarkable  feat,  since  Cyrus  could 
only  run  and  climb,  and  a  bird  could  fly.  But  as 
Jeannie  spoke  he  suddenly  thought  of  himself  in 
the  jaws  of  a  tiger,  of  the  clutch  of  the  long  white 
teeth,  of  the  fear,  and  the  helplessness;  and  a  queer 
tremor  made  him  catch  his  breath,  as  there  smote 
upon  him  an  emotion  that  had  never  yet  been  awak- 


44  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

ened  by  the  passage  of  his  sunny  days.  Pity  took 
hold  of  him  for  the  bright-eyed  bird.  It  suffered, 
his  imagination  told  him  that,  and  never  yet  had 
the  fact  of  suffering  come  home  to  him. 

They  hemmed  Cyrus  in,  and  Blessington  took  the 
thrush  out  of  his  jaws,  while  Cyrus  growled  and 
struck  at  her  with  his  paws,  and  then  greatly  in- 
censed bounded  out  into  the  garden  again,  so  as 
not  to  lose  the  chance  at  this  cat-hour  of  dusk,  of  a 
further  stalk  and  capture.  They  carried  the  bird 
into  the  hall  where  they  looked  at  it,  but  it  lay 
quite  still  in  Blessington's  hand,  with  its  helpless 
little  claws  relaxed,  and  with  its  eyes  fast  glazing 
in  death.  Its  beak  was  open,  and  on  its  speckled 
breast  were  two  oozing  drops  of  blood,  that  stained 
the  feathers. 

"Eh,  poor  thing,  it's  dead,"  said  Blessington. 

Archie  felt  all  the  desolation  of  an  unavailing 
pity. 

"No,  it  can't  be  dead,  Blessington,"  he  said.  "It'll 
get  all  right,  won't  it?"  and  his  lip  quivered. 

"No,  dear,  it's  quite  dead,"  said  Blessington,  "but 
if  you  like  we'll  bury  it.  There'll  be  just  time  before 
tea.  Shall  I  run  upstairs  and  get  a  box  to  bury  it 
in?" 

Without  doubt  this  was  a  consoling  and  attractive 
proposal  and  while  Blessington  went  to  get  a  suit- 
able coffin,  Archie  held  the  "small  slain  body"  in 
reverent  hands.  It  was  warm  and  soft  and  still ;  by 
now  the  bright  eyes  had  grown  quite  dull,  and  the 
blood  on  the  speckled  breast  was  beginning  to  coag- 
ulate, and  once  again,  even  with  the  novel  pros- 
pect of  a  bird-funeral  in  front  of  him,  Archie's  heart 
melted  again  in  pity. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  45 

"Why  did  Cyrus  kill  it,  Jeannie?"  he  said.  "The 
thrush  hadn't  done  any  harm." 

"Cats  do  kill  birds,"  said  Jeannie.  "Same  as  birds 
kill  worms,  or  you  and  William  kill  worms  when  you 
go  out  fishing." 

"Yes,  but  worms  aren't  birds,"  said  Archie. 
"Worms  aren't  nice :  they  don't  fly  and  sing.  It's  an 
awful  shame." 

Blessington  returned  with  a  suitable  cardboard 
box  which  had  held  chocolates,  and  into  this  fra- 
grant coffin  the  little  limp  body  was  inserted.  This 
certainly  distracted  Archie  from  his  new-found  emo- 
tion. 

"Oh,  that  will  be  nice  for  it,"  he  said.  "It  will 
smell  the  chocolate." 

"It  can't:  it's  dead,"  said  Jeannie. 

But  Blessington  understood  better. 

"Yes,  dear,  the  chocolate  will  be  nice  for  it,"  she 
said,  "and  then  we'll  cover  it  up  with  leaves  and 
put  the  lid  on." 

"Oh,  and  may  it  have  a  cris — a  crisantepum?" 
said  Archie.     "May  I  pick  one?" 

"Yes,  just  one." 

Archie  laid  this  above  the  bird's  head,  and  the  lid 
was  put  on. 

"Oh,  and  let's  have  a  procession  to  the  tool-shed 
to  get  a  trowel,"  said  Jeannie. 

"Yes!"  squealed  Archie,  now  thoroughly  im- 
mersed in  the  fascinating  ritual.  "And  I'll  carry 
the  coffin  and  go  first,  and  you  and  Blessington  shall 
walk  behind  and  sing." 

"Well,  we  must  be  quick,"  said  Blessington. 

"No,  not  quick,"  said  Jeannie.  "It's  a  funeral. 
What  shall  we  sing?" 


46  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

*'0h,  anything.  'The  Walrus  and  the  Carpenter.' 
That's  sad,  because  the  oysters  were  dead." 

So  to  the  moving  strains  the  procession  headed 
across  the  lawn,  and  found  a  trowel  in  the  tool-shed, 
and  excavated  a  grave  underneath  the  laurestinus. 
The  coffin  was  once  more  opened  to  see  that  the 
thrush  was  quite  comfortable,  and  then  deposited 
in  its  sepulchre,  and  the  earth  filled  in  above  it.  But 
Archie  felt  that  the  ceremony  was  still  incomplete. 

"Ought  we  to  say  a  prayer,  Jeannie?"  he  said. 

"No,  it's  only  a  thrush." 

Archie  considered  a  moment. 

"I  don't  care,"  he  said.    "I  shall  all  the  same." 

He  took  oJS"  his  sailor  cap  and  knelt  down  closing 
his  eyes. 

"God  bless  the  poor  thrush,"  he  said.  "Good- 
night, thrush;  I  can't  think  of  anything  more. 
Amen.     Say  Amen,  Jeannie." 

"Amen,"  said  Jeannie. 

"And  do  get  up  from  that  damp  earth,  dear,"  said 
Blessington.  "And  let's  see  who  can  run  the  fast- 
est back  to  the  house." 

Blessington  ran  the  least  fast,  and  Archie  tripped 
over  a  croquet  hoop,  and  so  Jeannie  won,  and  very 
nearly  began  telling  her  mother  about  it  all  before 
Archie  arrived.  But  though  breathless  he  shrilly 
chipped  in. 

"And  then  I  picked  a  crisantepum,  and  we  had  a 
procession  across  the  lawn,  and  made  a  lovely  grave 
by  the  tool-house,  and  I  said  prayers  though  Jeannie 
told  me  you  didn't  have  prayers  for  thrushes. 
Mummie,  when  I  grow  up,  may  I  be  a  clergyman?" 

"Why,  dear?" 

"Don't  they  have  lots  of  funerals?" 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  47 

"Pooh:  that's  the  undertaker,"  said  Jeannie. 
"Besides  I  did  say  Amen,  Archie." 

"I  know.  But,  Mummie,  why  did  Cyrus  kill  the 
thrush?  Why  did  he  want  to  hurt  it  and  kill  it? 
That  was  the  part  I  didn't  like  and  I  expect  the 
thrush  hated  it.  Wasn't  it  cruel  of  him?  But  if 
he  kills  another,  may  we  have  another  funeral?" 

He  stood  still  a  moment,  cudgelling  his  small 
brain  in  order  to  grasp  exactly  what  he  felt. 

"The  poor  thrush !"  he  said.  "I  wish  Cyrus  hadn't 
killed  it.    But  if  it's  really  dead,  I  like  funerals." 

Tea,  on  such  solemn  occasions  as  birthday  feasts, 
took  place  for  Archie,  not  in  the  nursery,  but  in  the 
drawing-room,  as  better  providing  the  proper  pomp. 
He  appreciated  that,  and  secretly  was  pleased  that 
Harry  Travers  should  be  ushered  by  William  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  have  the  door  held  open  for 
him  and  be  announced  as  Mr.  Travers.  With  that 
streak  of  snobbishness  common  to  almost  all  small 
boys  who  like  it  to  be  understood  that  their  parents 
live  in  a  state  of  unparalleled  magnificence,  it  was 
rather  jolly,  without  swaggering  at  all,  to  be  able  to 
greet  his  friend  in  the  midst  of  these  glories,  so  that 
he  could  see  for  himself  their  splendour.  In  other 
ways,  he  would  have  perhaps  preferred  the  nursery, 
and  certainly  would  have  done  so  when  the  moment 
came  for  him  to  cut  his  birthday-cake,  for  the  sugar 
on  the  side  of  it  cracked  and  exploded,  as  such  con- 
fectionery will  do,  when  Archie  hewed  his  way  down 
that  white  perpendicular  cliff,  and,  a  number  of 
fragments  falling  on  the  floor,  he  had  to  stand  quite 
still,  knife  in  hand,  till  William  got  a  housemaid's 
brush  and  scoop  and  removed  the  debris,  for  fear  it 
should  be  trodden  into  the  Arabian  carpet. 


48  ACROSS  THE  STREA^I 

Marjorie  was  away:  she  had  not  appeared  at  tea 
at  all,  and  when  this  sumptuous  affair  was  over, 
Jeannie  and  Harry  and  Archie  gathered  round  Lady 
Davidstow  on  the  hearth  rug  with  a  box  of  choco- 
lates planted  at  a  fair  and  equal  distance  between 
them,  and  she  told  them  the  most  delicious  story 
about  a  boy  whose  mother  had  lost  his  birthdays, 
so  that  year  after  year  went  by  without  his  having  a 
birthday  at  all.  The  lights  had  been  put  out,  and 
only  the  magic  of  leaping  firelight  guided  their 
hands  to  the  chocolate-box,  and  every  moment  the 
phantasy  of  the  story  got  more  and  more  interwoven 
with  the  reality  of  the  chocolates.  Eventually,  while 
the  birthday-less  boy's  mother  was  clearing  out  the 
big  cupboard  underneath  the  stairs,  she  came  across 
all  his  birthdays  put  away  in  a  purple  box  with  a 
gold  lock  on  it.  .  .  . 

"Was  it  the  cupboard  underneath  the  stairs  in  the 
hall  here?"  asked  Archie,  for  questions  were  per- 
mitted. 

"Yes.  There  they  all  were:  eight  birthdays  in 
all,  so  he  had  one  every  day  for  more  than  a  week. 
My  dears!     What's  that?" 

It  certainly  was  very  startling.  A  noise  like  a 
mixture  between  the  Chinese  gong  and  the  bell  for 
the  servants'  dinner  broke  in  upon  the  quiet,  with 
the  most  appalling  clamour.  Archie  swallowed  a 
chocolate  whole,  and  Harry,  with  great  prudence, 
took  two  more  to  sustain  him  in  these  rather  alarm- 
ing occurrences. 

"It  sounds  as  if  it  was  in  the  hall,"  said  Lady 
Davidstow.  "Harry,  will  you  open  the  door  and  see 
what  it  is?" 

"Yes,  I'll  go,"  he  said  firmly.  "But— but  may 
Archie  come  too?" 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  49 

The  noise  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun,  and 
with  a  pleasing  sense  of  terror  the  two  boys  went 
to  the  drawing-room  door  and  opened  it. 

"But  it's  quite  dark,"  said  Archie.  "Oh,  Mummy, 
what  is  happening?" 

"I  can't  think,  I  only  know  one  person  who 
makes  a  noise  the  least  like  that." 

"Oh,  is  it  Abracadabra?"  asked  Archie  excitedly, 
finding  that  his  scepticism  of  the  day  before  had 
vanished  like  smoke.  It  had  occurred  to  him  that 
Abracadabra  was  his  mother,  but  here  was  his 
mother  telling  them  stories. 

"Well,  the  only  time  I  ever  heard  her  sneeze,  it 
was  just  like  that,"  said  Lady  Davidstow. 

Archie  came  running  back,  shrieking  with  laugh- 
ter. 

"And  what  does  she  do  when  she  blows  her  nose?" 
he  asked. 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  when  a 
piercing  trumpet-blast  sounded,  and  his  mother  got 
up. 

"She  did  it  then,"  she  whispered.  "What  had  we 
better  do?  Shall  we  go  into  the  hall?  She  would 
like  us  to  be  there  to  meet  her  perhaps  if  she's 
coming." 

She  went  to  the  door,  followed  by  the  children, 
and  they  all  looked  out  into  the  black  hall.  The 
wood  fire  in  the  hearth  there  had  died  down  to  a 
mere  smoulder  of  red,  which  sent  its  illumination 
hardly  further  than  the  stone  fender  curb. 

"But  there's  something  there,"  said  Lady  Da- 
vidstow in  an  awe-struck  whisper.  "There's  some- 
body sitting  in  the  chair." 

"Oh,  Mummy,"  said  Archie,  coming  close  to  her, 
"I  don't  think  I  like  it." 


50  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"I'm  sure  there's  nothing  to  be  frightened  at, 
Archie,"  said  she.  "Which  of  us  shall  go  and  see 
what  it  is?" 

There  was  no  volunteer  for  this  hazardous  job, 
for  now,  with  eyes  more  accustomed  to  the  faint 
light,  they  could  all  see  that  it  was  not  Something 
there,  but  Somebody.  The  outlines  of  a  head,  of  a 
body,  of  legs  could  be  seen,  and  Somebody  sat  there 
perfectly  still.  .  .  . 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  the  gong  and  the  bell  and 
the  trumpet  broke  out  into  a  clamour  fit  to  wake  the 
dead,  the  great  chandelier  in  the  hall  flared  into 
light,  and  the  black  figure  sprang  up  throwing  its 
darkness  behind  it,  and  there  glittering  with  silks 
and  gems  and  gold  and  the  flowers  of  fairyland  stood 
Abracadabra.  She  had  a  huge  poke-bonnet  on 
which  cast  a  shadow  over  her  face,  but  the  end  of 
her  peaked  nose  and  chin  was  clearly  visible.  Her 
bonnet  was  trimmed  with  sunflowers  and  lilies  of 
the  valley  and  round  the  edge  of  it  went  a  row  of 
diamonds  which  were  quite  as  big  as  the  drops  in  a 
glass  chandelier.  Another  necklace  of  the  same 
brilliance  went  round  her  throat  and  rested  on  a 
crimson  satin  bodice  covered  with  gold.  From  her 
shoulders  sprang  spangled  wings,  and  from  below  her 
skirt  with  its  garlands  of  roses  were  silver  shoes  with 
diamond  buckles.  In  her  hand  she  carried  a  blue 
wand  hung  with  bells,  and  by  her  side  was  the 
clothes-basket  (such  was  its  shape)  made  of  gold. 

She  stamped  her  foot  with  rage. 

"Here's  a  nice  welcome.  Lady  Davidstow,"  she 
said  in  a  thin  cracked  voice.  "I  sneezed  to  show  I 
was  coming,  and  when  I  got  through  the  keyhole,  I 
found  the  hall  dark,  and  no  one  to  receive  me. 
How  dare  you?" 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  51 

Lady  Davidstow  advanced  with  faltering  steps, 
aJid  fell  on  her  knees. 

"Oh,  your  Majesty,  forgive  me,"  she  said. 

"Why  should  I  forgive  you?"  squeaked  the  in- 
furiate fairy.  "Why  shouldn't  I  take  you  away  in 
my  basket  and  put  you  in  the  Tower  of  Toads?" 

Archie  gave  a  great  gasp.  He  would  have  given 
much  for  a  touch  of  yesterday's  scepticism,  but  he 
couldn't  find  an  atom  of  it.  The  thought  of  his 
mother  being  whisked  off  to  the  Tower  of  Toads  was 
insupportable. 

"Oh,  please  don't,"  he  said. 

"And  who  is  that?"  asked  Abracadabra. 

Archie  almost  wished  he  hadn't  spoken,  and  took 
hold  of  Jeannie  on  one  side  and  Harry  on  the  other. 

"It's  me:  it's  Archie,"  he  said. 

"And  you  don't  want  me  to  take  your  ridiculous 
mother  away?"  she  asked. 

"No,  please  don't,"  said  Archie. 

"Very  well,  as  it's  your  birthday,  I  won't.  In- 
stead I'll  make  her  extra  lady  in  waiting  on  my 
peacock-staircase,  and  mistress  of  my  tortoise-shell 
robes." 

"Oh,  Mummy,  that  will  be  lovely  for  you,"  said 
Archie  remembering  that  his  mother  was  something 
of  the  kind  to  somebody  already. 

Then  there  came  the  giving  of  presents  with  the 
surprise  that  occurred  during  such  processes.  Archie 
was  told  to  advance  and  put  his  hand  in  the  left  far 
corner  of  the  golden  basket,  and  as  he  prepared  to 
do  so.  Abracadabra  sneezed  so  loudly  that  he  fled 
back  to  the  bottom  stair  of  the  staircase  where  they 
had  been  all  commanded  to  sit.  There  was-a  tennis 
racquet  for  Harry,  but  the  lights  all  went  out  when 
he  had  just  reached  the  clothes-basket,  and  Abra- 


52  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

cadabra  blew  her  nose  so  preposterously  that  his  ear 
sang  with  it  afterwards.  There  was  a  great  parcel 
for  Lady  Davidstow,  as  big  as  a  foot-ball,  which 
was  found  to  contain,  when  all  the  paper  was 
stripped  off,  nothing  more  than  a  single  acid  drop, 
in  order  to  teach  the  mistress  of  the  tortoise-shell 
robes  better  manners  when  her  mistress  came  to  pay 
a  visit,  and  Blessington  summoned  from  the  nursery 
was  presented  with  a  new  cap.  But  the  bulk  of  the 
gifts,  as  was  proper,  was  for  Archie,  a  clockwork 
train,  and  a  pen  that  needed  no  dipping,  and  a  fish- 
ing rod  and  a  second  suit  of  sailor  clothes.  And 
then  the  light  went  out  again,  and  Abracadabra  be- 
gan sneezing  and  blowing  her  nose  with  such  deaf- 
ening violence,  that  the  screen  which  stood  just 
behind  her  rocked  with  the  concussion,  and  the 
children  at  the  suggestion  of  the  mistress  of  the 
tortoise-shell  robes  groped  their  way  back  into  the 
drawing-room  with  their  presents,  and  shut  the  door 
till  Abracadabra  was  better.  And  when  from  the 
cessation  of  these  awful  noises  they  conjectured  she 
might  be  better,  and  ventured  out  into  the  hall 
again,  that  audience  chamber  was  just  as  usual,  and 
Archie's  father  came  out  of  his  room,  looking  vexed, 
and  asking  what  that  beastly  noise  was  about.  But 
when  he  heard  it  was  Abracadabra,  who  had  gone 
away  again,  he  was  greatly  upset,  and  said  that  it 
wasn't  a  beastly  noise  at  all,  but  the  lovehest  music 
he  had  ever  heard.  .  .  . 

Then  came  bed-time,  and  Archie,  still  excited, 
said  his  prayers  with  a  special  impromptu  clause 
for  Abracadabra,  and  another  for  the  thrush,  which 
he  suddenly  remembered  about  again,  and  then  lay 
staring  at  the  fire  with  his  hands  clasped  round  his 
knees  as  his  custom  was.     Certainly  Abracadabra 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  53 

had  been  wonderfully  real  to-day,  and  certainly  she 
was  not  his  mother.  Then  he  recollected  that  Mar- 
jorie  had  not  appeared  at  all,  and  wondered  if 
I^Iarjorie  perhaps  was  Abracadabra,  or  if  the  thrush 
was  Abracadabra,  or  Cyrus.  .  .  .  And  his  hands 
relaxed  their  hold  on  his  knees,  and  when  Blessing- 
ton  came  in,  he  did  not  know  that  she  kissed  him 
and  tucked  the  bed-clothes  up  under  his  chin. 


CHAPTER  III 

Archie  did  not  often  come  into  contact  with  Miss 
Schwarz,  his  sisters'  governess,  but  she  was  not  a 
person  to  be  lightly  encountered.  Sometimes  if 
Blessington  was  busy  he  and  Jeannie  went  out  for 
their  walk  with  his  eldest  sister  and  Miss  Schwarz, 
and  on  these  occasions  Miss  Schwarz  and  Marjorie 
would  talk  together  in  an  unknown  guttural  tongue, 
very  ugly  to  hear,  which  Archie  vaguely  understood 
was  German,  and  the  sort  of  thing  that  everybody 
spoke  in  the  country  to  which  Miss  Schwarz  went 
for  her  holiday  at  Midsummer  and  Christmas.  That 
uncouth  jargon,  full  of  such  noises  as  you  made  when 
you  cleared  your  throat,  was  quite  unintelligible,  and 
it  seemed  odd  that  Marjorie  should  converse  in  it 
when  she  could  speak  English,  but  it  somehow 
seemed  to  suit  Miss  Schwarz  who  had  a  sallow  face, 
prominent  teeth  and  cold  grey  eyes.  Otherwise  he 
did  not  often  meet  her,  for  she  led  an  odd  secret 
existence  in  his  sisters'  schoolroom,  breakfasting  and 
having  lunch  downstairs  in  the  dining-room,  but 
eating  her  evening  meal  all  by  herself.  She  had  a 
black  unrustling  dress  for  the  day,  and  a  black 
rustling  dress  for  the  evening,  and  a  necklace  of 
onyx  beads  which  she  used  to  finger  with  her  dry 
thin  hands,  which  reminded  Archie  of  the  claws  of 
a  bird.  His  mother  had  told  him  that  after  Christ- 
mas he  would  do  his  lessons  with  Miss  Schwarz, 
and  this  prospect  rather  terrified  him.     He  sup- 

54 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  55 

posed  that  Miss  Schwarz  would  probably  teach 
him  in  the  guttural  language  that  Jeannie  was  be- 
ginning to  understand  too,  and  he  had  moments  of 
secret  terror  when  he  pictured  Miss  Schwarz,  en- 
raged at  his  not  comprehending  her,  striking  at  him 
with  those  claw-like  hands.  .  .  . 

He  was  coming  upstairs  one  evening,  rather  later 
than  usual,  for  his  father  had  been  shewing  him  the 
contents  of  a  cabinet  of  butterflies,  and  Archie  en- 
raptured with  the  gorgeous  brilliant  creatures  had 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  wait  till  the  gong  rang  for 
dinner.  On  his  way  upstairs  he  remembered  that 
he  had  lent  Jeannie  the  pen  that  wrote  without 
being  dipped,  to  write  her  German  exercise  with. 
She  had  gone  to  bed  early  that  night  with  a  bad 
cold,  and  Archie  recognising  the  impossibility  of 
going  to  sleep  without  the  precious  pen  in  his  pos- 
session again,  ran  along  the  passage  to  the  school- 
room, where  he  was  likely  to  find  it.  This  might 
entail  a  momentary  encounter  with  Miss  Schwarz 
but  the  recovery  of  the  pen  was  essential,  and  he 
entered. 

Miss  Schwarz  had  finished  her  dinner,  and  was 
sitting  by  the  fire  on  which  steamed  a  kettle.  She 
held  a  big  glass  in  her  hand,  and  was  pouring  some- 
thing into  it  from  a  bottle.  There  was  a  high  colour 
in  her  usually  sallow  face  and  as  she  saw  Archie 
she  made  one  of  those  guttural  exclamations. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  said,  and  though  she 
spoke  English,  Archie  noticed  that  she  spoke  it  in 
the  same  thick  guttural  manner  as  German. 

Archie  froze  with  terror.  This  was  quite  a  new 
Miss  Schwarz,  a  gleaming,  eager  Miss  Schwarz. 

"Oh,  I  lent  Jeannie  my  pen,"  he  stammered.  "I 
came  to  look  for  it,  but  it  doesn't  matter." 


56  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"Nonsense !  That  is  not  why ! "  said  Miss  Schwarz 
angrily.  Then  she  suddenly  seemed  to  take  hold  of 
herself.  "Ach,  that  sweet  little  pen.  You  will  find 
it  on  the  table,  my  dear.  Luke,  and  find  it.  And 
then  say  good-night  to  poor  Miss  Schwarz.  Ach,  I 
am  so  ill  this  evening.  Such  a  heart-bum,  and  I 
was  just  about  to  take  the  medicine  vat  makes  it 
better.  Do  not  tell  any  one,  dear  Archie,  that  poor 
Miss  Schwarz  is  ill.  I  wish  to  troble  nobody.  Poor 
Miss  Schwarz  naiver  geeve  troble  if  she  can  'elp. 
Ach,  you  have  your  pen!     Good-night,  my  deear." 

Archie  fled  down  the  passage  to  the  nursery  with 
terror  giving  wings  to  his  heels.  This  Miss  Schwarz, 
angry  one  moment,  and  affectionate  and  effusive  the 
next,  was  a  new  and  a  more  awful  person  than  the 
one  he  was  acquainted  with,  and  he  felt  sure  she 
must  be  very  ill  indeed.  It  would  be  an  awful  affair 
if  Miss  Schwarz  was  found  dead  in  her  bed,  in  spite 
of  her  medicine,  just  because  he  had  not  told  any- 
body that  she  was  ill,  and  so  a  doctor  had  not  been 
fetched.  There  would  be  a  burden  on  his  conscience 
for  ever  if  he  did  not  tell  somebody.  He  burst  into 
the  nursery  with  a  wild  look  behind  him  to  make 
sure  that  Miss  Schwarz  was  not  following  him  in 
her  evening  rustling  dress. 

"Oh,  Blessington,"  he  cried,  "Miss  Schwarz  is 
ill :  do  go  and  see  what  is  the  matter.  I  went  to  the 
school  room  for  my  pen  and  she  was  sitting  by  the 
fire,  all  red,  and  angry  and  then  polite,  mixing  her 
medicine." 

Blessington  got  up  from  her  rocking-chair. 

"Eh,  I'll  go  and  see,"  she  said. 

"Don't  tell  her  I  told  you,"  said  Archie. 

"Nay,  of  course  I  won't.  Now  you  begin  your 
undressing,  and  I'll  be  back  very  soon." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  57 

Excited  and  frightened  and  yet  hugely  interested 
Archie  stood  at  the  door  of  his  room  listening.  Sud- 
denly he  heard  the  sound  of  Miss  Schwarz's  voice 
raised  almost  to  a  scream.  Then  there  came  the 
crash  of  a  glass,  and  the  ringing  of  a  bell,  while  still 
IVIiss  Schwarz's  voice  gabbled  on,  shrill  and  guttural. 
Trembling  and  yet  unable  to  resist  the  call  of  his 
curiosity,  he  stole  to  the  corner  of  the  nursery  pass- 
age, and  saw  William  come  upstairs  and  go  along 
to  the  school-room.  Then  Blessington  came  out, 
and  instead  of  coming  back  to  the  nursery,  she  went 
downstairs,  and  presently  his  father  came  up  again 
with  her.  He  too  went  along  the  school-room  pass- 
age and  suddenly,  as  if  a  tap  had  been  turned  off, 
the  shrill  voice  ceased.  Once,  for  a  moment,  it 
broke  out  again,  and,  as  suddenly  stopped,  and  then 
came  the  very  odd  sight  of  Miss  Schwarz  being  led 
along  the  landing  to  her  room  by  his  father  and 
Blessington.  Blessington  and  Miss  Schwarz  entered 
together,  his  father  went  downstairs  after  a  mo- 
ment's conversation  with  William,  and  presently 
William  came  along  the  landing  towards  the  nurs- 
ery. 

"Oh,  William,  what's  happened?"  said  Archie. 
"Is  Miss  Schwarz  very  ill?" 

"Well,  she  ain't  very  well,"  said  William.  "Lum- 
me!" 

"What  does  that  mean?"  asked  Archie. 

"It  don't  mean  anything  particular,  Master 
Archie." 

"Will  Miss  Schwarz  be  better  in  the  morning?" 
asked  Archie. 

"Lord,  yes.  They're  always  better  in  the  morn- 
ing, though  they  don't  feel  so.     Now  Blessington 


58  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

won't  be  back  yet  awhile,  so  I'm  to  look  after  you, 
and  see  you  safe  to  bed." 

Suddenly  the  thought  of  lying  helpless  in  bed, 
with  no  Blessington  next  door,  and  the  possibility 
of  Miss  Schwarz  guessing  that  Archie  had  told  of 
her  illness,  filled  him  with  awful  apprehensions. 
She  might  come  screaming  down  the  passage,  with 
her  claw-like  hands  starving  for  Archie's  face. 

"Oh,  William,  don't  leave  me  till  Blessington 
comes  back,"  he  entreated. 

"No,  sir,  of  course  I  won't.  There,  let  me  undo 
your  shoes  for  you.    You've  got  the  laces  in  a  knot." 

"And  she  won't  hurt  Blessington  either?"  asked 
Archie. 

"Bless  you,  no,  sir,"  said  William.  "And  there's 
your  night-shirt.  Now  jump  into  bed,  and  I'll  open 
the  window." 

William  put  out  the  light  and  Archie  with  a  de- 
licious sense  of  security  seeing  him  seated  by  the 
fire,  dozed  ofi".  Once,  just  before  he  got  fairly  to 
sleep,  an  awful  vision  of  Miss  Schwarz's  red  face 
came  across  the  field  of  his  closed  eyelids,  and  he 
started  up.    But  in  a  moment  William  was  by  him. 

"It's  all  right,  sir,"  he  said.    "I'm  on  the  look-out." 

There  was  a  decided  air  of  mystery  concerning 
Miss  Schwarz  next  morning.  She  was  better,  but 
she  remained  unseen,  and  nobody  would  answer  any 
questions  about  her.  But  in  the  afternoon  Archie 
met  Walter  and  the  odd-man  carrying  her  luggage 
downstairs,  and  he  gleaned  the  information  that  she 
was  going  away,  and  again  later  in  the  day  Archie 
saw  a  housemaid  coming  out  of  her  bedroom  with  a 
basket  full  of  her  medicine-bottles,  and  he  drew  the 
conclusion  that  she  must  have  been  ill  a  long  time 


ACROSS  THE  STREAJVI  59 

without  anybody  knowing.  Not  a  syllable  of  news 
could  he  obtain  from  anybody,  and  as  the  image  of 
Miss  Schwarz  faded  now  that  her  dark  ill-omened 
presence  was  withdrawn,  there  was  left  in  Archie's 
mind  no  more  than  a  general  sense  of  some  connec- 
tion between  screaming  voices,  red  faces,  indistinct 
utterance  and  the  drinking  of  yellow  medicine  out 
of  a  large  glass,  instead  of  the  usual  small  one. 

There  was  a  pleasant  holiday  sense  for  a  few  days 
after  the  departure  of  Miss  Schwarz,  for  INIarjorie 
took  Jeannie's  and  Archie's  lessons,  which  made  a 
perfect  festival  of  learning,  but  immediately  almost 
came  the  ominous  news  that  a  new  governess  was 
coming  next  day.  Archie  believed  that  Miss 
Schwarz  was  a  typical  specimen  of  the  genus  gov- 
erness, who  were  all  probably  in  league  together,  and 
that  some  colleague  of  Miss  Schwarz's,  bent  on 
avenging  her,  would  render  his  own  security  a  very 
precarious  matter.  It  was,  indeed,  some  consola- 
tion to  know  that  JNIiss  Bampton  was  a  personal 
friend  of  his  mother's  and  was  not  a  "regular"  gov- 
erness at  all,  but  was  just  going  to  stay  at  Lacebury 
and  teach  lessons,  yet  Archie  wondered  when  he 
went  downstairs  on  the  morning  after  her  arrival, 
whether  he  would  not  detect  under  the  guise  of  his 
mother's  friend  some  secret  agent  of  Miss  Schwarz. 

Jeannie  had  lately  been  promoted  to  have  break- 
fast with  the  rest  of  the  family,  and  as  Archie 
opened  the  door  he  heard  a  burst  of  laughter.  There 
was  Miss  Schwarz's  secret  agent  sitting  next  his 
father  and  she  it  must  have  been  who  had  made 
them  all  laugh,  for  she  was  not  laughing  herself,  and 
Archie  already  knew  that  a  joke  was  laughed  at 
most  by  the  people  who  hadn't  made  it.  She  was  a 
little  roundabout  person,  with  blue  eyes  and  a  sliort 


60  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

nose  and  pince-nez,  and  she  got  up  as  he  entered. 

"And  is  this  Archie?"  she  said.  "Why  I  always 
thought  of  Archie  as  a  baby.  And  here's  an  able- 
bodied  seaman!     How  are  you,  Archie?" 

Archie  stared  a  moment.  He  reviewed  his  sus- 
picion about  governesses  in  general,  but  certainly  if 
this  plump  genial  female  was  a  secret  colleague  of 
Miss  Schwarz,  her  disguise  was  of  the  most  ingenious 
kind.    But  it  was  as  well  to  be  careful. 

"I'm  quite  well,  thank  you,"  he  said,  and  per- 
ceiving that  a  kiss  had  been  intended,  presented  a 
sideways  cheek.  Miss  Bampton  made  a  sucking 
sound  against  it,  and  sat  down  again. 

"Well,  as  I  was  saying,"  she  went  on,  "the  only 
plan  of  teaching  is  the  co-operative  principle. 
There  are  such  heaps  of  jolly  things  to  learn,  that 
if  the  girls  and  I  have  a  meeting,  as  I  suggested, 
after  breakfast,  I'm  sure  we  can  find  plenty  of  sub- 
jects between  us.  So  I  summon  the  meeting  for  a 
quarter  past  ten  in  the  schoolroom." 

Archie  suddenly  felt  he  was  being  left  out.  A 
meeting  to  discuss  what  you  were  going  to  learn 
sounded  most  promising  in  the  way  of  lessons.  He 
ran  round  to  his  mother's  side. 

"Oh,  Mummy,  may  I  go  to  the  meeting?"  he  said. 

"You  must  ask  Miss  Bampton,"  said  she. 

Archie  stifled  his  sense  of  distrust,  for  he  wanted 
tremendously  to  go  to  a  meeting  where  you  settled 
what  you  were  going  to  learn.  He  hated  lessons,  in 
the  ordinary  acceptation  of  that  term,  with  their 
tiresome  copy-books,  in  which  he  had  to  write  the 
same  moral  maxim  all  down  the  pages,  and  the  stu- 
pid exercise — called  French  lesson — in  which  he  had 
to  address  himself  to  a  cat,  and  say  in  French  "of  a 
cat,"  "to  a  cat,"  "with  the  female  cat,"  "with  the 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  61 

male  cat,"  and  a  thing  called  geography  which  was  a 
brown  book  with  lists  of  countries  and  capital  towns 
in  it.  But  co-operation  lessons,  though  he  had  no 
idea  what  co-operation  meant,  sounded  far  more  at- 
tractive. 

"May  I  come  to  the  meeting,  Miss  Bampton?" 
he  said. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  of  course,"  said  Miss  Bampton, 
"if  your  mother  will  let  you." 

Thereupon  there  dawned  for  Archie  a  great  light. 
Hitherto  his  lessons  had  been  conducted  by  his 
mother,  with  occasional  tuition  from  his  father,  and 
they  had  always  made  the  impression  that  they  were 
tasks,  not  difficult  in  themselves,  but  dull.  He  had 
learned  the  various  modes  of  access  in  French  to 
male  and  female  cats,  he  had  grasped  the  fact  that 
Rome  and  not  Berlin  was  the  capital  of  Italy,  and 
Paris  not  Vienna  the  capital  of  France.  But  these 
pieces  of  information  were  mere  disconnected  for- 
mulae, lessons,  in  other  words,  which  had  to  be 
learned,  and  which,  if  imperfectly  learned,  caused 
him  to  be  called  lazy  or  inattentive.  In  the  same 
way,  the  fact  that  he  had  to  write  in  a  laborious 
round  hand  all  down  the  page  "To  be  good  is  to  be 
happy"  meant  nothing  more  than  the  necessity  of 
filling  the  page  without  a  plethora  of  blots  or  era- 
sures. But  from  the  date  of  this  exciting  meeting 
on  co-operative  learning  a  whole  new  horizon 
dawned  on  him.  It  was  settled  at  once  that  he  was 
to  do  his  lessons  with  Miss  Bampton,  and  from  that 
moment  they  ceased  to  be  lessons  at  all.  Instead 
of  the  lists  of  countries  and  capitals  to  be  learned 
by  heart,  there  was  provided  a  jig-saw.  puzzle  of 
the  map  of  Europe,  and  Italy  became  a  leg  and  foot, 
perpetually  kicking  Sicily,  and  Rome  the  button 


62  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

through  which  Italy's  bootlace  passed.  And  in- 
stead of  the  dreary  copy-book  maxims  heading  each 
page,  Miss  Bampton,  in  a  hand  quite  as  perfect  as 
Mr.  Darnell's,  wrote  the  most  stimulating  senti- 
ments on  the  top  of  each  blank  leaf.  "He  would  not 
sit  down,  so  we  bit  him"  was  one,  and  Archie,  with 
the  tip  of  his  tongue  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  an 
attitude  which  is  almost  indispensable  to  round- 
hand  orthography,  was  filled  with  delightful  con- 
jectures as  to  who  the  person  was  who  would  not  sit 
down,  and  who  were  those  tigerish  people  who  bit 
him  in  consequence.  His  father  had  a  habit,  during 
lessons,  of  standing  before  the  fire;  perhaps  it  was 
he  whom  Walter  and  William  bit  when  they  came 
in  with  a  fresh  coal  scuttle.  And  then  Miss  Bamp- 
ton had  the  most  delightful  plans  of  where  lessons 
might  be  done.  One  day  when  it  was  snowing  hard 
she  conceived  the  brilliant  plan  of  doing  lessons  in 
the  motor  in  the  garage,  which  gave  the  most  ex- 
traordinary stimulus  to  the  proceedings,  for  early 
English  history  was  the  lesson  that  morning,  and 
so  she  and  Archie  and  Jeannie  were  high-born 
Anglo-Saxons,  specially  invited  to  the  coronation  of 
William  the  Conqueror  (1066)  and  it  would  never 
do  if  at  the  Coronation  banquet  afterwards  he  asked 
them  questions  about  their  predecessors  and  they 
didn't  know.  Another  day,  when  the  sun  shone 
frostily,  and  the  lawn  was  covered  with  hoar-frost, 
they  wrapped  themselves  up  in  furs,  and  worked  at 
geography,  as  Laplanders,  in  the  summer-house. 
Marjorie  was  too  old  to  need  such  spurs  to  indus- 
try, but  Miss  Bampton  had  enticing  schemes  for  her 
also,  giving  her  verse  translations  of  Heine  and 
Goethe,  and  encouraging  her  to  see  how  near  she 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  63 

got  to  the  original  when  she  translated  them  back 
into  their  native  tongue. 

The  Christmas  holidays,  looked  forward  to  with 
such  eager  expectation  in  the  baleful  reign  of  Miss 
Schwarz,  drew  near,  but  now,  instead  of  counting 
the  hours  till  the  moment  when  Miss  Schwarz,  safe 
in  the  motor,  would  blow  claw-fingered  kisses  to 
them,  the  children  got  up  a  Round  Robin  (or  rather 
a  triangular  Robin,  which  Marjorie  translated  into 
German),  begging  Miss  Bampton  to  stop  with  them 
for  the  holidays.  For  she  was  as  admirable  in  play- 
time, as  she  was  over  their  lessons;  she  told  them 
enchanting  stories  on  their  walks,  and  painted  for 
them  in  real  smelly  oil-paints  the  most  lovely  snow- 
scenes,  pine-woods  laden  with  whiteness,  and  cot- 
tages with  red  blinds  lit  from  within.  Never  had 
anyone  such  a  repertory  of  games  to  be  played  in 
the  long  dark  hours  between  tea  and  bed-time,  and 
it  was  during  one  of  these  that  Archie  made  a  curi- 
ous discovery. 

The  game  in  question  was  "Animal,  Vegetable  or 
Mineral?"  One  of  them  thought  of  anything  in 
heaven  or  earth  or  in  the  waters  under  the  earth, 
and  the  rest,  by  questions  answered  only  by  "Yes," 
or  "No,"  had  to  arrive  at  it.  On  this  occasion  Miss 
Bampton  had  thought:  it  was  known  to  Animal  and 
not  in  the  house. 

Archie  was  sitting  on  the  floor  in  the  school-room 
leaning  against  Miss  Bampton's  knee.  He  had  been 
staring  at  the  coals,  holding  Miss  Bampton's  hand 
in  his,  when  suddenly  there  came  over  him  precisely 
the  same  sensation  that  he  remembered  feeling  one 
night,  years  ago,  when  he  woke  and  imagined  him- 
self and  the  night-nursery  expanding  and  extend- 
ing till  they  embraced  all  that  existed.    That  sen- 


64.  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

sation  throbbed  and  thrilled  through  him  now,  and 
he  said: 

"Oh,  Miss  Bampton,  how  easy!  Why  it's  the 
longest  tail-feather  of  the  thrush  that  C5n:-us  killed." 

"Oh,  Archie,  don't  guess,"  said  Jeannie.  "It's 
no  use  just  guessing." 

"But  it  is!"  said  Archie.  "I'm  not  guessing.  I 
know.    Isn't  it.  Miss  Bampton?" 

It  certainly  was,  and  so  by  the  rules  of  the  game, 
since  it  had  been  guessed  in  under  five  minutes. 
Miss  Bampton  had  to  think  again.  But  now  Archie 
tried  in  vain  to  recapture  the  mood  that  made  Miss 
Bampton's  mind  so  transparently  clear  to  him.  He 
knew  what  that  mood  felt  like,  that  falling  away  of 
the  limitations  of  consciousness,  that  expansion  and 
extension  of  himself,  but  he  could  not  feel  it,  it 
would  not  come  by  effort  on  his  part,  it  came,  he 
must  suppose,  as  it  chose,  like  a  sneeze.  .  .  . 

As  Christmas  drew  near  another  amazing  talent 
of  Miss  Bampton's  shewed  itself.  Marjorie  had 
been  up  to  London  one  day,  to  combine  the  pains 
of  the  dentist  with  the  pleasure  of  a  play,  and  came 
back  with  a  comforted  tooth  and  the  strong  desire 
to  act.  Instantly  Miss  Bampton  rose  to  the  occa- 
sion. 

"Let's  get  up  a  play  to  act  to  your  father  and 
mother  on  New  Year's  night,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  it  would  be  fun,"  said  Marjorie.  "But  what 
play  could  we  act?" 

"I'll  write  you  one,"  said  Miss  Bampton,  and  write 
it  she  did  with  a  speed  and  a  lavishness  of  plot  that 
would  have  astonished  more  deliberate  dramatists. 
There  was  a  villain,  a  usurper  king  (Miss  Bamp- 
ton) ;  there  was  a  fairy  (Marjorie) ;  there  was  the 
rightful  and  youthful  king  (Archie)  who  lived  (Act 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  65 

Y.)  in  painful  squalor  in  a  dungeon,  attended  only 
by  the  jailer's  daughter  (Jeannie)  who  knew  his 
identity  and  loved  him  whether  he  was  in  a  dungeon 
or  on  a  throne.  Luckily,  he  loved  her  too,  any- 
where, and  they  were  kind  to  a  beggar-woman,  who 
turned  out  to  be  the  fairy,  and  did  the  rest.  Miss 
Bampton  was  consigned  to  the  lowest  dungeon,  and 
everybody  else  lived  happily  ever  aftei'wards. 

Then  came  the  question  of  dresses,  and  Marjorie 
rather  thoughtlessly  exclaimed: 

"I'm  sure  mother  will  let  me  have  her  Abracada- 
bra clothes  for  the  fairy.  Oh — I  forgot,"  she  added, 
remembering  that  Archie  was  present. 

There  was  an  attempt  (feeble,  so  Archie  thought 
it)  on  the  part  of  Miss  Bampton  to  explain  this 
away.  She  said  that  Abracadabra  kept  a  suit  of 
birthday  clothes  in  every  house  she  visited.  Archie 
received  the  information  quite  pohtely,  said  "Oh,  I 
see,"  and  remained  wholly  incredulous.  His  faith 
in  the  Abracadabra  myth  had  tottered  before:  this 
was  the  blow  that  finally  and  completely  compassed 
its  ruin,  and  it  disappeared  in  the  limbo  of  dis- 
credited imaginings,  like  the  glassy  sea  between  the 
rugs  in  the  hall,  and  the  snarl  of  the  tigers  at  his 
enemies.  Never  again  would  the  combined  crash  of 
the  servants  dinner-bell  and  the  Chinese  gong  make 
him  wonder  at  the  magnificence  of  Abracadabra's 
sneezings,  and  when  the  play  arrived  at  the  stage  of 
dress-rehearsal  it  was  no  shock  to  see  Marjorie 
in  Abraca'dabra's  poke-bonnet  and  be-diamonded 
bodice. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  with  the  disap- 
pearance of  those  childish  illusions,  the  world  be- 
came in  any  way  duller  or  less  highly  coloured  to 
Archie:  it  grew,  on  the  contrary,  more  and  more 


66  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

fairy-like.  The  outburst  of  spring  that  year  filled 
him  with  an  ecstasy  that  could  best  be  expressed  by 
running  fast,  and  jumping  in  the  air  with  shouts  of 
joy.  The  unfolding  of  gummy  buds  on  the  horse- 
chestnut  by  the  lake  filled  him  with  a  rapture  all 
the  keener  because  he  could  not  comprehend  it; 
presently,  the  sight  of  pale  green  five-fingered  leaves, 
weak  as  new-dropped  lambs,  made  him  race  round 
and  round  Blessington  till  she  got  giddy.  There  was 
a  smell  of  damp  earth  in  the  air,  of  young  varnished 
grass-blades  pushing  up  among  the  discoloured  and 
faded  foliage  of  the  lawn,  and  for  the  hard  bright 
skies  or  the  sullen  clouds  of  winter,  a  new  and 
tender  blue  was  poured  over  the  heavens,  and  clouds 
white  as  washed  fleeces  pursued  one  another  aloft, 
even  as  their  shadows  bowled  over  the  earth  be- 
neath. Birds  began  to  sing  again,  and  sparrows 
chattering  in  the  ivy  pulled  straws  and  twigs  about, 
practising  for  the  nest-building  time  which  would 
soon  be  upon  them.  A  purplish  mist  hung  over 
birch-trees,  and  soon  it  changed  to  a  mist  of  green 
as  the  buds  expanded.  Violets  hidden  behind  their 
leaves  bedecked  the  lane-sides,  and  one  morning  the 
first  primrose  appeared.  Last  year,  no  doubt,  and  in 
all  preceding  springs  the  same  things,  no  doubt,  had 
happened,  but  now  for  the  first  time  they  were  sig- 
nificant, and  penetrated  further  than  the  mere  field 
of  vision.  They  filled  him  with  an  unreasoning 
joy.  ... 

Anything  in  the  shape  of  natural  history  received 
strong  encouragement  from  Lord  Davidstow,  as  well 
as  anything  (Archie  did  not  fully  grasp  this)  that 
tended  to  keep  him  out  of  doors  when  his  short  les- 
sons were  done,  and  he  and  Jeannie  started  this 
year  a  series  of  joint  collections.    Certain  rules  had 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  67 

to  be  observed:  flowers  that  they  picked  must  be 
duly  pressed  and  mounted  on  sheets  of  Cambridge 
paper,  and  their  names  must  be  ascertained.  One 
bird's  egg  might  be  taken  from  any  nest  which  con- 
tained four  in  the  absence  of  the  mother-bird,  and 
must  be  blown  and  put  in  its  labelled  cell  in  the 
egg-cabinet,  but  when  three  specimens  of  any  sort 
had  been  collected,  no  more  must  be  acquired.  That 
perhaps  was  the  collection  Archie  liked  best,  though 
the  joys  of  the  aquarium  ran  it  close.  The  aquarium 
was  a  big  bread-bowl  lined  at  the  bottom  with  spar 
and  crystals,  and  in  it  lived  caddis-worms,  and 
water-snails  and  a  dace,  probably  weak  in  the 
head,  for  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  caught  in 
the  landing-net  without  the  least  effort  to  get  out 
of  the  way.  He  had  an  inordinate  passion  for  small 
bread-pills,  in  pursuit  of  which  he  was  so  violently 
active  that  he  often  hit  his  nose  against  the  side  of 
the  aquarium  so  hard  that  you  could  positively 
hear  the  stunning  blow.  When  satiated  he  would 
still  continue  to  rush  after  bread-pills,  but  after 
holding  them  in  his  mouth  a  moment  would  expel 
them  again  with  such  force  that  he  resembled  some 
submarine  gun  discharging  torpedoes. 

Then  there  was  the  butterfly  and  moth  collection, 
which  was  of  short  duration  and  then  abandoned  on 
account  of  a  terrible  happening.  The  insects  were 
emptied  into  the  killing-bottle,  and  when  dead 
transfixed  with  a  pin,  and  Sft.  But  one  morning 
Archie,  examining  the  setting-board  to  see  if  they 
were  stiff  and  ready  to  be  transferred  irto  the  cork- 
lined  boxes,  found  to  his  horror  that  so  far  from 
being  stiff  two  butterflies,  a  tortoise-shell  and  a 
brimstone,  were  alive  still  with  waving  antennae 
and  twite  ing  bodies.    That  dreadful  incident  poi- 


68  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

soned  the  joy  of  that  collection:  he  felt  hunself 
guiltier  of  a  worse  outrage  than  Cyrus,  and  all 
Blessington's  well-meant  consolations  that  insects 
hardly  felt  anything  at  all  would  not  induce  him 
to  run  the  risk  of  committing  further  atrocities. 
For  a  day  and  a  night  the  two  had  writhed  under 
their  crucifixion,  and  that  day  the  caterpillars  were 
released  from  their  breeding-cage  (even  including 
that  piece  of  preciousness,  the  caterpillar  of  the 
convolvulus  hawk  with  a  horn  on  his  tail)  and  the 
killing-bottle  was  relegated  to  the  attic. 

The  Sunday  church-goings  for  which  an  inter- 
mission had  been  ordained  in  consequence  of  Ar- 
chie's infant  remarks  about  the  amusingness  of  the 
man  with  the  wagging  beard,  had  long  ago  been  re- 
sumed again,  and  this  year  he  had  a  sudden  attack 
of  spurious  and  sentimental  religion  that  caused  his 
mother  some  little  anxiety.  He  developed  a  dread- 
ful conscience,  and  came  to  her  with  a  serious  face 
and  confessed  trivial  wrong-doings.  (This  phase, 
she  comforted  herself  to  think,  occurred  in  the  au- 
tumn of  this  year,  at  a  time  when  there  was  noth- 
ing much  to  be  done  in  the  way  of  collecting.)  One 
morning  Archie  came  to  her  with  a  crime  that  sorely 
oppressed  him.  Nearly  two  years  ago  somebody 
had  sent  her  a  painted  Eastor  egg,  an  ostrich's  egg, 
painted  with  gilt  designs  of  a  cross  and  a  crown  and 
some  rays,  which  Archie  had  been  forbidden  to 
touch. 

"I  touched  it,"  he  said.  "I  wet  my  finger  and 
rubbed  it  or  the  crown  and  some  of  it  came  off." 

"Well,  dear,  of  course  you  shouldn't  have  done  it, 
if  I  had  told  you  not  to,"  she  said.  "But  don't 
bother  about  it  any  more.  What  made  you  come 
and  tell  me  so  long  after?" 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  60 

Archie  grew  more  solemn  still. 

"I  was  leaning  out  of  the  nursery-window,"  he 
said,  "and  I  heard  Charles  singing  'A  few  more 
years  shall  roll'.  So  I  came  and  told  you  before  I 
*was  asleep  within  the  tomb.' " 

His  mother  laughed  quite  as  if  she  was  amused. 

"We'll  hope  there'll  be  more  than  a  few  years 
before  that,  darling,"  she  said. 

"And  shall  I  he  forgiven  now  I've  told  you?" 
asked  Archie. 

"Yes,  of  course.  Don't  think  anything  more  about 
it." 

Archie  would  have  preferred  a  more  sentimental 
treament  of  his  offense,  and  rather  wished  his 
mother  bore  a  stronger  resemblance  to  Mrs.  Mont- 
gomery in  the  Wide,  Wide  World  whose  edifying 
tears  fell  so  fast  and  frequently,  and  after  this,  he 
tended  to  keep  his  misdeeds  more  to  himself,  and 
repent  of  them  in  secret.  Simultaneously  also  the 
copy  of  the  Wide,  Wide  World,  which  he  had  dis- 
covered in  a  passage  book-case,  mysteriously  van- 
ished, and  no  one  appeared  to  have  the  slightest  idea 
where  it  had  gone.  So  unable  to  stuff  himself  fur- 
ther with  that  brand  of  mawkishness  the  desire 
that  his  mother  should  be  more  like  Mrs.  Mont- 
gomery faded  somewhat,  and  there  seemed  but  little 
pleasure  in  repentance  if  your  confessions  were  re- 
ceived in  so  unsentimental  a  manner,  and  it  was  no 
fun  really  keeping  them  to  oneself.  But  for  some 
weeks  Sunday  morning  service  in  church  (he  had 
expressed  a  wish  to  go  to  evening  Church  as  well, 
but  his  mother  had  told  him  that  once  was  as  much 
as  was  good  for  him)  became  the  emotional  centre 
of  his  life,  though  his  religion  was  strangely  mixed 
up  with  a  far  more  mundane  attraction.     There 


ro  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

was  a  particular  choir-boy  there  with  blue  eyes, 
pink  cheeks  and  a  crop  of  yellow  curls  who  sang 
solos,  and  thrilled  Archie  with  a  secretly  and  perfect- 
ly sexless  emotion.  Only  last  Sunday  he  had  sung 
"Oh,  for  the  wings  of  a  dove,"  and  religion  and  child- 
ish adoration  together  had  brought  Archie  to  the 
verge  of  tears.  He  longed  to  be  good,  to  live,  until 
a  few  more  years  should  roll  (for  he  felt  that  he 
was  going  to  die  young),  a  noble  and  beautiful  life; 
he  longed  also  to  fly  away  and  be  at  rest  with  the 
choir-boy.  He  made  up  pathetic  scenes  in  which  he 
should  be  lying  on  his  death-bed  with  his  weeping 
family  round  him,  and  the  choir-boy  would  sing  to 
him  as  he  died,  and  they  would  smile  at  each  other. 
When  this  vision  proved  almost  too  painful  for 
contemplation,  he  would  console  himself  by  pictur- 
ing an  alternative  scheme,  in  which  there  were  to 
be  no  death-beds  at  all,  but  instead  he  would  get 
into  the  church  choir,  and  sit  next  the  choir-boy 
and  they  would  sing  solos  together  before  a  rapt  con- 
gregation. But  adorable  though  his  idol  was,  he 
did  not  really  want  to  know  him,  or  even  find  out 
who  he  was.  He  existed  for  him  in  some  remote 
ideal  sphere,  becoming  incarnate  just  for  an  hour 
on  Sunday  morning,  a  golden-haired  surpliced  voice, 
that  suggested  the  vanished  thrills  of  the  Wide, 
Wide  World.  He  pronounced  certain  words  rather 
oddly,  and  had  a  slight  lisp  which  Archie  tried  to 
copy,  until  one  day  his  father  told  him  never  to 
say  "Yeth"  again,  or  he  should  write  out  "Yes"  a 
hundred  times. 

Then  came  the  most  exciting  discovery :  this  vocal 
angel  proved  to  be  the  son  of  the  head-keeper,  and 
it  was  therefore  perfectly  easy  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance.   The  notion  of  meeting  him  face  to  face,  of 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  71 

exchanging  a  "good  morning"  with  him  was  almost 
over-powering,  and  yet  he  instinctively  shrank  from 
bringing  the  ideal  into  contact  with  actual  life.  He 
began  to  choose  for  his  walk  the  rather  dank  and 
gloomy  path  that  led  past  the  keeper's  cottage  with 
great  frequency,  and  yet  when  that  abode  where 
the  ideal  lived  came  within  sight,  Archie  with  beat- 
ing heart  would  avert  his  eyes,  for  fear  he  should 
see  him.  Then  one  day  as  they  got  opposite  the 
gate,  a  small  boy  in  corduroy  knickerbockers  with  a 
rather  greasy  scarf  round  his  neck  and  a  snuffling 
nose  came  out,  and  touched  his  cap.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  about  his  identity,  and  Archie  suffered 
the  first  real  disillusionment  of  his  life.  The  fading 
of  Abracadabra  was  nothing  to  this:  that  had  been 
a  gradual  disillusionment,  whereas  this  was  sudden 
as  a  lightning-stroke.  He  was  a  shattered  idol,  and 
from  that  moment  Archie  could  hardly  recall  what 
the  idol  looked  like,  or  recapture  the  faintest  sense 
of  the  emotion  which  had  filled  him  before  that 
encounter  in  the  wood  which  caused  it  to  reel  and 
totter  and  fall  prone  from  its  unsubstantial  pedestal. 
This  blow  on  the  top  of  the  robust  reception  of  his 
confession  did  much  to  restore  Archie  to  the  ways 
of  normal  boyhood,  and  it  was  really  rather  a  relief 
to  his  mother  when  his  expanding  experimenting 
nature  took  a  very  different  turn,  and  he  became  for 
a  time  obstreperously  naughty.  She  thought  quite 
rightly  that  this  evinced  a  greater  vigour.  That  it 
undoubtedly  did,  and  the  imagination  contained  in 
some  of  Archie's  exploits  rivalled  the  more  visionary 
power  that  constructed  death-bed  scenes  for  him- 
self and  the  idealisation  (cruelly  shattered)  of  the 
choir-boy. 
One  very   dreary  November   afternoon,   shortly, 


72  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

after  his  seventh  birthday,  he  was  sitting  alone  in 
his  mother's  room.  All  day  the  sullen  heavens  had 
poured  their  oblique  deluge  on  the  earth,  and  sheets 
of  water  were  being  flung  against  the  windows  by 
the  cold  South-easterly  gale.  Archie  was  suffering 
from  a  slight  cold,  and  had  not  been  out-of-doors 
for  a  couple  of  days,  and  this  unusual  detention  in 
the  house  had  caused  him  to  be  very  cross,  and  also 
had  dammed  up  within  him  a  store  of  energy  which 
could  not  disperse  itself  innocuously  in  violent 
movement.  Jeannie  had  gone  for  a  motor-drive 
with  his  mother,  Marjorie  and  Miss  Bampton  were 
closely  engaged  over  their  rotten  German,  and 
Archie  that  morning  had  been  stingingly  rebuked  by 
his  father  for  sliding  down  the  bannisters  in  the 
hall,  a  mode  of  progress  strictly  forbidden.  Bless- 
ington  had  not  been  less  stinging,  for  an  hour  ago 
Archie  had  been  extremely  rude  to  her,  and  with  a 
dignity  that  he  both  respected  and  resented,  she  had 
said,  ''Then  I've  nothing  more  to  say  to  you,  Master 
Archie,  till  you've  remembered  your  manners  again." 
And  had  thereupon  continued  her  sewing. 

Archie  knew  he  had  been  rude,  but  his  sense  of 
that  was  not  yet  strong  enough  to  enable  him  to 
apologise,  though  of  sufficient  energy  to  make  him 
feel  woe-begone  and  neglected.  He  had  been  al- 
lowed by  his  mother  to  sit  in  her  room  that  after- 
noon, when  she  went  out  with  Jeannie,  and  she  had 
allowed  him  also  to  investigate  what  was  known  as 
her  "work-box,"  which  contained  her  "treasures."  In 
earlier  days  these  had  been  a  source  of  deep  delight: 
there  was  a  china  elephant  with  a  silk  palanquin 
on  his  back :  there  was  a  porcupine's  quill,  there  was 
a  set  of  doll's  tea-things,  a  pink  umbrella,  the  ferule 
of  which  was  a  pencil,  a  chain  of  amber.    Once  these 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  73 

had  held  magic  for  Archie:  they  were  "Mummy's 
treasures,"  and  could  only  be  seen  on  wet  afternoons 
or  in  hours  of  toothache.  But  to-day  they  appeared 
to  him  perfectly  rubbishy:  not  a  gleam  of  glamour 
remained,  they  were  as  dull  as  the  leaden  skies  of 
this  interminable  afternoon.  Archie  lay  in  the  win- 
dow-seat, and  wondered  that  his  sailor-trousers  only 
a  year  ago  had  given  hmi  so  complete  a  sense  of 
happiness.  He  rubbed  one  leg  against  the  other  try- 
ing to  recollect  how  it  was  that  that  rough  serge 
against  his  bare  calf  felt  so  manly.  He  tried  to  inter- 
est himself  in  Alice  in  Wonderland,  and  marvelled 
that  he  could  have  cared  about  an  adventure  with  a 
pack  of  cards.  He  longed  to  throw  the  book  at  the 
foolish  Dresden  Shepherdess  that  stood  on  the  man- 
telpiece. He  supposed  there  would  be  trouble  if  he 
did,  that  his  mother  would  be  vexed,  but  trouble  was 
better  than  this  nothing-at-all.  Probably  it  would 
rain  again  to-morrow,  and  he  would  have  another 
day  indoors,  and  the  thought  of  Nothing  Happening 
either  to-day  or  to-morrow  seemed  the  same  as  the 
thought  of  nothing  happening  for  ever  and  ever. 
There  was  a  bright  fire  in  the  hearth  and  beyond 
the  steel  fender  a  thick  hearth-rug  of  long  white 
sheep's  wool.  Suddenly  Archie  remembered  the 
odour  that  came  when,  one  day,  a  fragment  of  hot 
coal  flew  out  of  the  fire,  and  lodged  in  this  same 
hearth-rug.  There  was  a  fatty  burning  smell,  most 
curious,  and  simultaneously  the  wild  irresistible  de- 
sire of  doing  something  positively  wicked  enthralled 
him.  Instantly  he  knew  what  he  was  going  to  do, 
and  with  set  determined  face  he  took  the  fire-shovel 
in  one  hand  and  the  tongs  in  the  other,  and  heaped 
the  shovel  high  with  burning  coals.  He  emptied 
them  on  the  hearth-rug. 


74  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

The  smoke  of  singeing  burning  hair  arose,  and  he 
took  several  more  lumps  of  glowing  coal  from  the 
fire-place,  and  deposited  them  on  the  rug.  Then 
a  panic  seized  him,  and  he  tried  to  stamp  the  con- 
flagration out.  But  he  only  stamped  the  glowing 
coals  more  firmly  in,  and,  though  amazed  at  his 
audacity,  he  did  not  really  want  to  extinguish  it. 
He  wanted  something  to  happen.  Quite  deliber- 
ately, though  with  cheeks  burning  with  excitement, 
he  walked  out  of  the  room,  leaving  the  door  open, 
and  simultaneously  heard  the  crunch  of  the  gravel 
under  the  wheels  of  his  mother's  returning  motor. 
He  did  not  wish  to  see  her,  and  went  straight  to 
the  night-nursery  (now  his  exclusive  bedroom)  and 
locked  himself  in.  But  he  was  not  in  the  least  sorry 
for  what  he  had  done:  if  anything,  he  wished  he  had 
put  more  coals  there.  Nor  was  he  frightened  at  the 
thought  of  possible  consequences.  Merely,  he  did 
not  care  what  happened,  so  long  as  something  hap- 
pened. That,  he  reflected,  it  was  pretty  certain  to 
do.    But  he  made  no  plans. 

Before  very  long,  he  heard  someone  turning  the 
handle  of  his  door,  and  he  kept  quite  still.  Then 
his  father's  voice  said: 

"Are  you  there,  Archie?"  and  still  he  said  nothing. 

The  voice  grew  louder  and  the  handle  rattled. 

"Archie,  open  your  door  immediately,"  said  his 
father. 

Not  in  the  least  knowing  why,  Archie  proceeded 
to  do  so.  He  still  felt  absolutely  deflant  and  des- 
perate, but  for  some  instinctive  reason  he  obeyed. 

Enormous  and  terrible  his  father  stood  before 
him. 

"Did  you  put  those  coals  on  your  mother's  hearth- 
rug?" asked  Lord  Davidstow. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  75 

"No,"  said  Archie. 

"Then  how  did  you  know  they  were  there?"  asked 
his  father. 

Archie  had  something  of  the  joy  of  the  desperate 
adventurer. 

"Because  I  put  them  there,"  he  said. 

"Then  you  have  lied  to  me  as  well." 

"Yes,"  said  Archie. 

Lord  Davidstow  pointed  to  the  door. 

"Go  downstairs  at  once,"  he  said,  "and  wait  in 
my  study." 

Archie  obeyed,  still  not  knowing  why.  At  the  top 
of  the  stairs  was  standing  his  mother,  who  took  a 
step  forward  towards  him. 

"Archie,  my  darling "  she  began. 

"Leave  the  boy  to  me,"  said  his  father  who  was 
following  him. 

Archie  marched  downstairs,  still  without  a  tre- 
mor. It  occurred  to  him  that  his  father  was  going 
to  kill  him,  as  Cyrus  killed  the  thrush.  There  was 
a  whispered  conversation  between  his  mother  and 
father,  and  he  heard  his  mother  say  "No,  don't, 
don't,"  and  felt  sure  that  this  referred  to  his  being 
killed.  But  he  felt  quite  certain  that  whatever  hap- 
pened, he  was  not  going  to  say  he  was  sorry. 

He  went  into  his  father's  study  and  shut  the  door. 
On  the  table  he  noticed  that  there  was  standing  one 
of  Miss  Schwarz's  medicine  bottles,  and  a  squirting 
water-bottle  beside  it,  and  wondered  whether  Miss 
Schwarz  had  come  back.  But  there  was  no  other 
sign  of  her. 

In  another  moment  his  father  entered. 

"Now  you  thoroughly  deserve  a  good -whipping, 
Archie,"  he  said.  "You  might  have  burned  the 
house  down,  and  if  you  were  a  poor  boy  you'd  have 


76  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

been  put  into  prison  for  this.  But  your  mother  has 
been  pleading  for  you,  and  if  you'll  say  you  are 
sorry,  and  beg  her  pardon  for  burning  her  hearth- 
rug, I'll  let  you  off  just  this  time." 

Well,  he  was  not  going  to  be  killed,  but  he  was 
going  to  be  whipped.  Archie  felt  his  heart  beating 
small  and  fast  with  apprehension,  but  he  was  not 
sorry,  and  did  not  intend  to  say  he  was. 

''Well?"  said  his  father. 

''I'm  not  sorry,"  said  Archie. 

"I'll  give  you  one  more  chance,"  said  his  father, 
moving  towards  a  cupboard  above  one  of  the  book- 
cases. 

"I'm  not  sorry,"  said  Archie  again. 

Plis  father  opened  the  cupboard. 

"Lock  the  door,"  he  said. 

But  before  he  could  lock  it,  it  was  opened  from 
without,  and  his  mother  entered.  His  father  had 
already  a  cane  in  his  hand,  and  he  turned  round 
as  she  came  in.  She  looked  at  him  and  then  at  Miss 
Schwarz's  medicine  bottle  on  the  table. 

"Go  away,  Marion,"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  give 
the  boy  a  lesson." 

She  pointed  at  the  bottle. 

"You  had  better  learn  yours  first,"  she  said. 

"Never  mind  that.  Archie  says  he's  not  sorry. 
It  is  my  duty  to  teach  him." 

Suddenly  Archie  felt  tremendously  interested. 
He  had  no  idea  what  all  this  was  about,  or  what  his 
father's  lesson  was,  but  he  felt  he  was  in  the  presence 
of  some  drama  apart  from  his  own.  It  was  with  a 
sense  of  the  interruption  of  this  that  he  saw  his 
mother  turn  to  him. 

"Archie,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "You  have  vexed 
and  grieved  me  very  much.    Supposing  I  had  felt 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  TTi 

wicked  and  had  burned  your  stylograph  pen, 
shouldn't  I  be  sorry  for  having  injured  you?  And 
aren't  you  sorry  for  having  burned  my  hearth-rug? 
What  had  I  done  to  deserve  that?  Hadn't  I  given 
you  leave  to  sit  in  my  room,  and  look  at  my  trea- 
sures?   Why  did  you  hurt  me?" 

Immediately  the  whole  affair  wore  a  different 
aspect.  Instead  of  anger  and  justice,  there  was  the 
sound  of  love.    His  heart  melted,  and  he  ran  to  her. 

"Oh,  Mummy,  I  didn't  mean  to  vex  you,"  he 
cried.  "I  didn't  think  of  that.  You  hadn't  done 
anything  beastly  to  me." 

He  burst  into  tears. 

"Oh,  Mummy,  forgive  me,"  he  said.  "I  don't  mind 
being  whipped,  at  least  not  much,  but  I'm  sorry:  I 
beg  your  pardon.  Please  stop  my  allowance  till 
I've  paid  for  it." 

"Yes,  dear,  it's  only  right  that  you  should  pay 
some  of  it.  You  shall  have  no  more  allowance  for 
three  weeks.  Now  go  straight  upstairs,  and  go  to 
bed  till  I  come  to  you  and  tell  you  that  you  may  get 
up.  And  Blessington  tells  me  you  have  been  rude 
to  her.    Go  and  beg  her  pardon  first." 

The  effect  of  this  episode  on  Archie's  mind  was 
that  his  mother  understood,  and  his  father  didn't. 
The  prospect  of  a  whipping  had  not  made  him  falter 
in  his  resolve  not  to  say  he  was  sorry,  so  long  as  he 
wasn't  sorry,  but  the  moment  his  mother  had  put 
his  misdeeds  in  a  sensible  light,  he  saw  them  sen- 
sibly, and  would  not  have  minded  being  whipped  if 
by  that  drastic  method  he  could  have  borne  witness 
to  the  reality  of  his  sorrow.  But  only  three  days 
later  he  received  six  smart  cuts  with  that  horrible 
cane  for  climbing  onto  the  unparapetted  roof  of  the 


78  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

house  out  of  his  bedroom  window,  which  he  had  been 
expressly  forbidden  to  do.  But  then  there  was  no 
question  of  being  sorry  or  not — as  a  matter  of  fact 
he  was  not — summary  justice  was  executed  for 
mere  disobedience,  and  before  doing  the  same  thing 
again  he  added  up  the  pleasure  of  going  on  the  roof, 
and  balanced  it  against  the  pain  inflicted  on  the 
tight  seat  of  his  sailor-trousers  as  he  bent  over  a 
chair,  and  found  it  wanting. 

It  was  during  this  same  month  that  saw  his 
seven  completed  years  that  he  did  a  very  strange 
and  unintelhgible  thing,  though  he  suffered  it  rather 
than  committed  it.  He  did  it,  that  is  to  say,  quite 
involuntarily,  and  did  not  know  he  was  doing  it  till 
it  was  done.    This  was  the  manner  of  it. 

Miss  Bampton  had  set  him  one  of  her  delightful 
exercises  in  hand-writing  in  his  copy-book.  "Never 
brush  your  teeth  with  the  housemaid's  broom,"  she 
had  written  in  her  beautiful  copper-plate  hand  at 
the  top  of  the  page,  and  Archie  was  sitting  with  his 
tongue  out  copying  this  remarkable  maxim,  and 
amusing  himself  with  conjectures  as  to  what  other 
strange  habits  such  people  as  were  likely  to  brush 
their  teeth  with  the  housemaid's  broom  might  be 
supposed  to  have — perhaps  they  would  lace  their 
boots  with  the  tongs,  or  write  their  letters  with  a 
poker.  .  .  .  He  had  got  about  half-way  down  the 
page  when  suddenly  there  came  over  him  that  sen- 
sation with  which  he  was  beginning  to  become  fa- 
miliar, that  feeling  of  extension  and  expansion 
within  himself,  that  falling  away  of  the  limitations 
of  consciousness  which  opened  some  new  interior 
world  to  him. 

His  pen  paused,  and  then  in  the  wrist  of  his  right 
hand  and  in  the  fingers  that  still  held  his  pen  he 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  79 

felt  a  curious  imperative  kind  of  twitching,  and 
knew  that  they  wanted  to  write  of  their  own  voU- 
tion,  as  it  were,  though  it  was  not  his  copy  that 
they  were  concerned  with.  Under  this  sensation  of 
absolute  compulsion,  he  took  a  sheet  of  paper  that 
lay  at  his  elbow,  and  let  his  pen  rest  on  it,  watching 
with  the  intensest  curiosity  what  it  would  do.  He 
had  absolutely  no  idea  what  would  happen,  but 
he  felt  that  something  had  to  be  written.  For  a 
couple  of  minutes  perhaps  his  pen  traced  random 
lines  on  the  paper,  moving  from  left  to  right  with 
a  much  greater  speed  than  it  was  wont  to  go,  and 
the  letters  began  to  form  themselves  with  a  rapidity 
and  certainty  unknown  to  his  careful,  halting  calli- 
graphy, and  in  firm  upright  characters.  He  saw  his 
own  name  traced  on  the  paper  followed  by  a  sen- 
tence and  then  his  pen  (still  apparently  obedient  to 
some  unknown  impulse  from  his  fingers)  gave  a 
great  dash  and  stopped  altogether.  And  this  is 
what  he  read : 

* '  Archie,  do  let  me  talk  to  you  sometimes. 

"Maetin.'* 

The  queer  sensation  had  ceased  altogether,  and 
Archie  stared  blankly  at  the  words  that  he  knew 
his  hand  had  written.  But  what  they  meant  he 
had  no  notion,  nor  did  he  know  who  Martin  was. 
The  whole  thing  was  quite  unintelligible  to  him, 
both  the  impulse  that  made  him  write,  and  that 
which  he  had  written. 

Miss  Bampton  had  left  the  room  on  some  errand, 
when  she  had  set  Archie  his  copy,  and  came  back 
at  this  moment,  expecting  to  find  the  copy  finished. 
She  looked  over  his  shoulder  to  see  how  he  was 
getting  on. 


80  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"My  dear,  haven't  you  got  further  than  that?" 
she  said.  "I  thought  you  would  have  finished  it  by 
this  time." 

She  saw  the  other  piece  of  paper  half-concealed 
by  Archie's  left  hand. 

"Why,  you've  been  writing  something  else,"  she 
said.  "That's  why  you  haven't  got  on  further.  Let 
me  look." 

"Please  not,"  said  Archie.    "It's  private." 

Miss  Bampton  remembered  that  a  week  ago 
Archie  had  been  seized  with  a  strong  desire  for  liter- 
ary composition,  and  had  composed  a  very  remark- 
able short  story  which  may  be  given  in  full. 

''Chapter  1 

"There  was  once  a  merderer  with  yellow  eyes,  and 
his  wife  said  to  him : 

**  'If  you  merder  me  you  will  be  hung.' 
"And  he  was  hung  on  Tuesday  next. 
"Fmis." 

When  Archie  had  brought  this  yam  to  her,  she 
had  laughed  so  uncontrollably  that  he  was  hurt. 
So  in  the  hope  of  finding  another  such  (though 
Archie  had  no  business  to  write  stories  in  lesson- 
time)  she  said: 

"My  dear,  do  shew  me:  I  won't  laugh." 

Archie  hesitated :  he  felt  shy  about  disclosing  this 
sentence  he  had  written,  but  on  the  other  hand  Miss 
Bampton  who  appeared  to  know  everything,  might 
help  him.  towards  the  interpretation. 

"Well,  it's  not  a  story,"  he  said.  "It's  just  this. 
I  wrote  it  without  knowing.  Oh,  Miss  Bampton, 
what  does  it  mean,  and  who  is  Martin?" 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  81 

If  it  was  Archie  who  hesitated  before,  it  was  Miss 
Bampton  who  hesitated  now.  Suddenly  she  had  a 
clever  thought. 

"My  dear,  you've  been  thinking  about  the  mar- 
tins that  built  in  the  sandpit  last  spring,"  she  said. 
"Don't  you  remember  how  you  and  Jeannie  made 
up  a  story  about  them?" 

This  was  true  enough,  but  it  failed  to  satisfy 
Archie.  Also  he  had  a  notion  that  Miss  Bampton 
had  made  a  call  on  her  ingenuity  in  offering  this 
explanation. 

"But  isn't  there  any  other  Martin?"  he  asked. 

"None  that  you  ever  knew,  Archie,"  she  said.  "I 
think  it's  one  of  those  in  the  sandpit.  Now  get  on 
with  your  copy,  and  we'll  walk  there  before  your 
dinner." 

The  incident  passed  into  the  medley  of  impres- 
sions that  were  crowding  so  quickly  into  the  store- 
house of  Archie's  consciousness,  but  it  did  not  lie 
there  quite  unconnected  with  others.  He  laid  it  on 
the  same  shelf,  so  to  speak,  as  that  which  held  the 
memory  of  his  waking  vision  one  night  in  remote 
days,  and  held  also  the  fact  of  his  knowing  what 
Miss  Bampton  had  thought  of  in  the  guessing 
game.  But  those  were  among  the  secret  things  of 
which  he  spoke  to  nobody.  One  more  impression 
for  secret  pondering,  though  of  another  sort  from 
those,  he  had  lately  added  to  his  store,  and  that  was 
when  a  whipping  seemed  imminent,  and  he  saw 
one  of  Miss  Schwarz's  medicine  bottles  standing  on 
his  father's  table. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Lady  Davidstow  and  Miss  Bampton  were  sitting 
together  that  night  in  Lady  Davidstow's  bedroom. 
She  had  sent  her  maid  away,  saying  that  she  would 
not  want  her  again,  and  now  she  held  in  her  hand 
the  sheet  of  paper  covered  with  lines  of  meaning- 
less scribbles,  with  the  one  intelligible  sentence  at 
the  end,  which  Archie  had  written  that  day  when 
he  should  have  been  doing  his  copy.  In  the  other 
hand  she  held  a  letter  written  in  ink  that  was  now 
rather  faded,  and  she  was  comparing  the  two.  She 
looked  at  them  for  some  time  in  silence,  then  turned 
to  Miss  Bampton. 

"Yes,  you  are  quite  right,  Cathie,"  she  said.  "What 
Archie  wrote  might  actually  be  in  Martin's  hand- 
writing. Look  for  yourself:  there's  the  last  letter 
he  ever  wrote  to  me." 

Miss  Bampton  took  the  two  papers  from  her. 

"There's  absolutely  no  difference,"  she  said.  "The 
moment  I  saw  what  Archie  had  written,  I  thought 
of  Martin's  handwriting.  And  then  it  was  signed 
'Martin.'  Are  you  sure  he  has  never  heard  of  him? 
Not  that  that  would  account  for  the  handwriting," 

Lady  Davidstow  shook  her  head. 

"I  think  it's  impossible,"  she  said.  "Jeannie  as- 
sured me  she  had  never  spoken  to  him  about  Martin, 
nor  has  Blessington.  He  may  have  heard  his  name. 
He  probably  has  heard  his  name  mentioned.  I  re- 
member mentioning  it  in  Archie's  hearing  the  other 

82 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  83 

day,  but  he  didn't  pay  the  slightest  attention.  And 
he  can't  possibly  recollect  him  even  in  the  vaguest 
way.  It  is  five  years  now  since  Martin  died,  and 
Archie  was  then  only  just  two,  and  for  six  months 
before  that  IMartin  was  with  me  at  Schonberg." 

Cathie  Bampton  laid  down  the  two  papers. 

"I  can't  think  why  you  never  told  Archie  about 
him,"  she  said. 

Lady  Davidstow's  great  grey  eyes  grew  dim. 

"Ah,  my  dear,  if  you  were  Martin's  mother  and 
Archie's  mother  you  would  know,"  she  said.  "If  you 
had  seen  your  eldest  son  die  of  consumption  and 
your  second  son  threatened  with  it,  you  would  under- 
stand how  natural  it  was  not  to  tell  Archie  yet  of 
the  brother  he  had  never  consciously  seen.  Jack 
agreed  with  me,  too.  I  have  long  been  prepared  for 
Archie  asking  questions,  which  certainly  I  would  an- 
swer truthfully,  and  let  the  knowledge  come  to  him 
quietly,  by  degrees.  I  may  have  done  wrong:  I  don't 
know.  But  I  think  I  did  right.  I  couldn't  begin  say- 
ing to  Archie,  'You  had  a  brother,  but  he  died': 
more  would  have  come  out,  that  he  died  of  con- 
sumption: that  for  fear  of  that  Archie  lives  in  the 
open  air." 

"But,  my  dear,  how  will  Archie  begin  to  know,  un- 
less you  tell  him?" 

"Oh,  in  many  ways.  There  is  Martin's  picture 
for  instance,  in  my  room.  Archie  might  have  asked 
of  whom  the  picture  was.  Or,  when  he  heard  Mar- 
tin's name  mentioned,  he  might  have  asked  who 
Martin  was.  Indeed,  I  have  often  thought  it  odd 
that  he  hasn't.  Only  the  other  day  Jack  was  talk- 
ing to  me  about  it,  suggesting  that  it  was  4ime  that 
Archie  knew.  Indeed,  he  rather  urged  me  to  tell 
him.    And  now,  all  of  a  sudden,  we  find  Archie  writ- 


84  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

ing  in  Martin's  handwriting,  and  signing  with  Mar- 
tin's name." 

"Shall  you  tell  Lord  Davidstow?"  asked  Miss 
Bampton. 

"No,  I  certainly  shall  not.  Jack  hates  all  that  ap- 
proaches the  neighbourhood  of  anything  that  might 
be  called  occult  or  spiritualistic.  He  says  Tshaw,' 
as  you  know,  if  even  hypnotism  is  mentioned.  I  did 
tell  him  about  Archie's  intuition  in  that  guessing 
game,  and,  as  you  again  know,  he  asked  you  not  to 
play  it  any  more,  though  at  the  same  time  he  in- 
sisted that  it  was  a  mere  guess  on  Archie's  part." 

Cathie  was  silent  a  moment. 

"And  those  scribbles  of  Archie's?"  she  asked.  "Do 
they  not  make  it  more  difficult  for  you  to  tell  him 
about  Martin  now?  A  sensitive  boy  like  that  might 
get  it  into  his  head  that  his  dead  brother  was  writ- 
ing to  him." 

"Certainly  I  don't  want  Archie  to  think  that,"  said 
his  mother.    "No,  I  shall  put  off  telling  him  now." 

"And  if  he  asks?"  said  Miss  Bampton. 

"I  have  an  idea  that  he  won't  ask." 

She  got  up  and  moved  about  the  room  for  a  mo- 
ment in  silence. 

"My  dear,  all  children  have  got  a  secret  life  of 
their  own,"  she  said,  "and,  oh,  how  their  mothers 
want  to  be  admitted.  But  every  young  thing  has 
a  walled-up  place  in  his  heart,  to  which  he  admits 
nobody,  and  if  you  ask  to  be  admitted,  not  only  is 
the  door  shut,  but  locked.  We  all  had  our  secret 
places,  and  I  make  a  guess  that  this  bit  of  paper — ■ 
by  the  way,  mind  you  put  it  back  in  the  schoolroom 
where  Archie  left  it — lives  in  Archie's  secret  place. 
How  I  long  to  get  in,  the  darling.  But  all  I  can  do 
is  to  wait  outside,  and  take  what  he  gives  me.  Archie 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  85 

doesn't  tell  me  everything,  why  should  he?  He 
didn't  tell  nie  what  it  was  that  made  him  put  the 
burning  coals  out  of  the  fire  onto  my  hearth-rug." 

"Probably  he  didn't  know." 

''Something  inside  him  knew,  or  else  he  wouldn't 
have  done  it.  All  we  do  is  accountable  for  by  what 
is  inside  us.    Impulses  come  from  within." 

"But  they  are  suggested  by  what  is  without,"  said 
Miss  Bampton. 

"Yes:  that's  the  box  on  which  the  match  is  struck, 
but  the  fire  is  inside.  All  you  can  do  for  a  child, 
even  your  own  child,  is  to  suggest,  and  hope  he'U 
take  your  suggestions." 

Miss  Bampton  got  up. 

"It's  late:  I  must  go,"  she  said.  "But  I  want  to 
ask  you  one  thing.  Do  you  believe  in  the  possibility 
of  Martin's  having  made  a  communication  to 
Archie?" 

"Yes:  I  think  I  do.  That's  why  this  affair  has 
upset  me  so.  The  idea  is  so  strange  and  new  that 
I'm  frightened  about  it,  though  why  I  should  be  so 
I  can't  tell.  With  my  whole  heart  I  believe  that  my 
darling  is  living  somewhere  in  an  existence  as  in- 
dividual as  ever,  and  even  more  vividly,  because 
the  weakness  and  the  illness  and  the  weariness  are 
past.  So  why  should  I  be  frightened  at  the  thought 
that  he  could  communicate  with  Archie?  Ah,  my 
dear,  if  only  he  would  communicate  with  me!  Or 
with  Jack!  Poor  Jack,  how  he  would  scout  the 
idea:  how  shocked  he  would  be.  I  suppose  that's 
part  of  my  secret  garden  which  I  keep  from  Jack." 

She  held  her  friend  a  moment  after  kissing  her. 

"Jack  never  really  got  over  Martin's  death,"  she 
said.  "He  couldn't  bring  himself  into  line  with  it. 
It  was  then  that  it  became  a  settled  habit  with  him 


86  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

to  try  to  forget  .  .  .  Just  lately  he  has  been  very 
bad.  There,  good  night,  my  dear,  I  can't  talk  about 
it." 

The  whole  incident  affected  Archie  far  less  than 
it  affected  either  his  mother  or  his  governess,  and 
next  day  when  he  found  his  scribbled  paper  lying 
where  he  had  left  it  the  day  before,  it  excited  no 
further  curiosity  in  his  mind.  He  put  it  away  on 
his  shelf  of  secret  things  which  had  nothing  to  do 
with  his  ordinary  normal  life.  In  certain  moods, 
which  after  all  only  lasted  for  a  moment  or  two, 
the  things  that  shelf  contained  became  far  more 
real  to  him  than  any  other  of  his  experiences,  but 
for  weeks  and  months  at  a  time  its  contents  re- 
mained out  of  his  reach  and  if  he  shared  them,  as 
his  mother  had  said,  with  nobody  else,  he  had  no 
share  in  them  himself  except  at  these  odd  queer 
moments.  So,  when  next  day  he  came  across  this 
curious  sentence  again,  caught  by  him,  as  by  some 
wireless  telegraphy,  he  felt  but  little  interest  in  it, 
though  he  sat  for  a  couple  of  minutes  with  his  pen 
held  idly  in  his  hand,  just  to  see  if  anything  else 
happened.  But  there  was  no  sensation  that  ever 
so  faintly  resembled  the  twitching  and  yearning  of 
his  hand  to  write  he  knew  not  what,  and  he  crumpled 
the  paper  up,  and  put  it  into  the  fire.  Somewhere 
below  the  threshold  of  his  conscious  self  lay  the 
perceptions  that  were  concerned  with  it,  those  per- 
ceptions that  guessed  what  Miss  Bampton  had 
thought  of,  that  somehow  swam  up  to  the  surface, 
as  he  used  to  lie  in  bed  of  the  morning,  and  sink 
into  the  depths  that  lay  below  the  green  tinted  ceil- 
ing of  his  room,  and  while  they  lay  dormant,  it  was 
as  if  they  never  existed. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  87 

But  now  for  some  weeks  there  had  been  no  light 
whatever  on  his  ceihng,  and  morning  after  morn- 
ing he  awoke  with  no  sense  of  exhilaration  at  all  in 
the  coming  of  another  day,  but  with  a  drowsy  de- 
pression lying  thick  upon  him,  as  he  heard  the  rustle 
of  the  endless  rain  in  the  shrubs  outside,  and  lan- 
guidly went  through  those  exercises  that  used  to  in- 
vigorate him  but  now  only  tired  him.  All  through 
the  month  the  damp  chilly  weather  persisted,  and 
day  after  day  the  same  lowering  heavens  obscured 
the  sun :  never  in  this  bright  Sussex  upland  had  there 
been  so  continuous  a  succession  of  rain-streaked 
hours.  The  wonder  of  seeing  the  lake  slowly  ris- 
ing till  it  engulfed  the  lower  end  of  the  lawn  and 
made  an  island  of  the  summer  house  failed  to  stir 
him,  and  there  was  no  magic  in  the  unique  expe- 
rience of  punting  across  the  lawn  to  it.  Then  one 
morning  early  in  December,  the  deluge  was  stayed, 
once  more  the  sun  slid  up  a  cloudless  sky,  and  the 
whole  nature  of  the  world  was  changed. 

Archie  had  again  been  indoors  for  a  couple  of  days, 
with  a  return  of  the  cold  that  really  was  responsible 
for  the  burning  of  his  mother's  hearth-rug,  and  once 
more  the  ecstacy  of  living  possessed  him.  As  con- 
solation for  his  imprisonment,  he  and  Jeannie  were 
both  given  a  holiday,  and,  breakfast  over,  they 
scampered  out,  and  once  more  saw  their  shadows 
racing  in  front  of  them.  The  game  was  to  tread 
on  somebody  else's  shadow  (Blessington's  shadow 
did  not  count,  because  anybody  could  tread  on  that), 
but  it  required  real  agility  to  tread  on  Jeannie's,  for 
it  had  the  nippiest  way  of  dodging  before  your  foot 
could  really  descend  on  it.  So  they  ran  in  circles 
round  Blessington,  and  Marco  the  collie  ran  in  cir- 
cles round  them;  and  though  it  counted  two  to  tread 


88  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

on  Marco's  shadow  (you  must  not  hold  Marco  and 
then  stamp  on  his  shadow)  no  on  had  got  nearer 
than  a  doubtful  claim  to  have  trod  on  his  tail. 

Quite  suddenly  Archie  stopped:  he  had  an  odd 
warm  sensation  in  his  mouth  that  required  inves- 
tigation. Two  days  ago  Jeannie's  nose  had  bled, 
which  Archie  thought  rather  grand.  There  had  been 
rather  a  fuss  about  it:  she  was  laid  down  on  the 
floor,  and  Miss  Bampton  put  the  door-key  down 
her  back,  and  eventually  some  ice  was  brought,  and 
it  was  all  quite  important.  But  now  it  was  not  his 
nose  that  was  bleeding,  but  his  mouth. 

"Oh,  I  say,  I'm  bleeding  in  my  mouth,"  he  said. 
"That's  just  as  good  as  Jeannie's  nose." 

Even  while  he  spoke  he  felt  rather  giddy,  and 
instantly  Blessington's  arm  was  round  him, 

"Eh,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "That'll  never  do.  You 
lean  against  me,  and  we'll  go  home  very  quietly. 
You  mustn't  chase  any  more  shadders  this  morning." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Archie  did  not  want  to.  He 
felt  a  rather  enjoyable  lightness  in  his  head,  but 
he  felt  weak  also,  and  disinclined  to  run, 

"Oh,  here  it  is  again,"  he  said,  and  once  more, 
now  with  a  sensation  of  choking,  he  coughed  up 
blood. 

He  saw  Blessington's  tender  anxious  face  above 
him,  exactly  as  it  had  appeared  in  the  earliest  of 
all  his  memories,  and,  as  then,  felt  absolutely  com- 
fortable in  the  thought  that  she  was  there.  Her 
arm  was  close  round  his  neck  now,  and  with  her 
other  hand  she  made  a  sign  to  Jeannie. 

"Run  straight  back  home,  dear,"  she  said,  "and 
tell  your  Mamma  to  come  out  here  at  once,  and 
bring  William.  Master  Archie  and  I  are  going  to 
sit  down  quietly  till  she  comes," 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  89 

Arcliie  rather  enjoyed  all  this.  He  was  completely 
in  Blessington's  hands,  and  utterly  content  to  be  so. 
Then  Blessington  did  a  very  odd  thing. 

"Well,  I'm  so  hot  with  seeing  you  and  IMiss  Jean- 
iiie  running  about,"  she  said,  "that  I'm  going  to 
sit  down,  and  wait  for  a  bit.  And  you'll  wait  for 
me,  dear,  won't  you?  There!  Put  your  head  on 
my  knee  and  lie  down.  I  know  you're  hot  with 
running  about." 

As  by  a  conjuring  trick,  Archie  knew  that  Bless- 
ington's cloak  with  its  collar  of  rabbit's  fur  was 
tucked  round  him.  It  was  rather  odd  to  be  lying 
with  his  head  on  Blessington's  knee  out-of-doors 
in  the  winter,  but  he  had  no  desire  to  question  the 
propriety  of  all  this,  for  it  fitted  in  so  well  with  his 
main  desire  which  was  to  stop  still.  A  couple  of 
minutes  ago  he  had  been  running  about  at  top- 
speed,  now  he  had  no  wish  except  to  do  as  he  was 
told,  to  put  himself  into  responsible  hands.  It  was 
all  rather  dreamlike;  his  mother  and  William  were 
coming  here  soon  but  that  seemed  quite  natural. 
And  it  was  still  rather  grand  to  bleed  at  the  mouth. 
Then  came  a  gentle  singing  in  his  ears,  a  pleasant 
sense  of  complete  indolence  that  never  quite  passed 
into  unconsciousness,  and  presently  it  was  just  as 
natural  to  find  himself  in  William's  arms.  Out  of  a 
half-opened  eye  he  saw  William  was  in  livery,  for 
the  blue  and  white  stripes  of  his  low  waistcoat  were 
close  to  him,  and  his  cheek  rested  on  William's  shirt 
front.  And  then  he  saw  that  there  was  a  bright 
red  stain  there  which  certainly  was  not  part  of  Wil- 
liam's ordinary  livery. 

"Oh,  William,  I've  messed  you,"  he  said.  "I  am 
sorry." 


90  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"That's  all  right,  Master  Archie,"  said  William. 
"It  wasn't  a  new  shirt  this  morning." 

Some  dim  reminiscence  about  something  William 
had  told  him  concerning  beer-money  and  washing 
came  into  his  head.  William  had  beer-money  or 
washing:  he  could  not  remember  which. 

"I  shall  pay  for  it  anyhow,"  he  said. 

Still  feeling  rather  dizzy  he  had  the  impression 
of  his  own  room  with  Blessington  and  his  mother 
near  him.  Apparently  he  had  been  laid  on  the  floor, 
for  his  bed  looked  tall  beside  him.  Then  he  was 
not  on  the  floor  any  more,  but  in  his  bed,  and 
whether  it  was  at  once  or  later,  he  never  knew,  but 
presently  there  was  in  the  room  the  stranger  who 
once  had  made  him  play  the  pointless  game  of  say- 
ing "ninety-nine!"  Here  he  was  again  with  a  plug 
against  Archie's  chest,  and  two  other  plugs  in  his 
own  ears.  Archie  remembered  him  quite  distinctly: 
he  was  a  doctor  who  didn't  give  any  medicine. 

"Shall  I  say  'ninety-nine'?"  he  asked. 

"No,  just  think  'ninety-nine,'  and  don't  talk.  If 
you  think  'ninety-nine'  it  will  do  just  as  well." 

Archie  had  no  desire  to  do  anything  beyond  what 
he  was  told  to  do.  He  thought  "ninety-nine,"  and 
the  stranger  smiled  very  kindly  at  him. 

"That's  capital,"  he  said.  "Now  just  go  on  think- 
ing 'ninety-nine'  .  .  ."  and  whether  he  floated  out 
of  the  window,  or  vanished  like  the  Cheshire  cat, 
or  walked  away  in  the  ordinary  manner,  Archie  was 
quite  unaware. 

Then  he  was  hungry,  and,  behold,  there  was 
Blessington  with  boiled  rabbit,  and  he  was  sleepy 
and  hungry  again,  and  again  sleepy.  Sometimes 
his  mother  was  there,  and  sometimes  his  father,  who 
looked  rather  odd,  and  sometimes  William  brought 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  91 

coals,  though  the  housemaid  usually  did  that,  and 
there  was  Blessington  again  who  washed  his  face, 
and  then  uncovering  him  limb  by  limb  washed  these 
also.  Archie  could  not  understand  why  he  ac- 
quiesced in  this  odd  state  of  things,  or  why  he  did 
not  ask  to  get  up  and  run  about  and  play  the 
shadow-game  again.  But  merely  he  was  quite  con- 
tent to  lie  still,  and  he  hoped  that  when  Jeannie 
came  and  talked  to  him  she  would  not  suggest  the 
resumption  of  the  game  that  had  been  so  ecstatic, 
but  had  been  interrupted  so  suddenly.  And  Miss 
Bampton  came  in,  and  read  to  him  something  she 
had  been  writing.  He  noticed  that  she  read  from 
printed  pages,  not  like  an  ordinary  book,  but  very 
long.  It  appeared  that  it  was  a  story  she  had  writ- 
ten which  had  got  printed,  and  he  asked  whether 
his  story  about  "the  merderer"  would  ever  get 
printed.  They  all  came  in,  and  talked  gently  and 
melted  away  again. 

Then  arrived  a  memorable  morning  when  instead 
of  being  gently  awakened  by  Blessington  he  awoke 
entirely  of  his  own  accord,  and  felt  strong  and  cross. 
Cross  he  certainly  proved  to  be,  for  when  the  morn- 
ing washing  began,  which  hitherto  had  been  a  pleas- 
ant and  luxurious  performance,  he  found  that  Bless- 
ington could  do  nothing  right.  She  put  soap  into 
his  eye,  she  tickled  his  feet  and  scratched  his  shoul- 
der with  her  disgusting  flannel.  Archie  made  fierce 
complaints  against  each  of  these  outrages,  of  a  sort 
that  would  usually  lead  to  rebuke  on  Blessington's 
part.  Indeed,  he  had  not  been  nearly  so  rude  on 
the  occasion  when  he  had  been  told  to  apologise  to 
her. 

But  now  she  merely  beamed  at  each  disagreeable 


92  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

remark,  and  instead  of  scolding  him,  she  made  a 
most  cryptic  remark. 

"Eh,  my  darling,"  she  said.  "Thank  God,  you 
feel  like  blaming  me  again." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Blessington?"  said  Archie 
angrily.  "Oh,  do  take  care  of  my  little  toe.  You've 
nearly  pulled  it  off  once  already." 

"Well,  then,  I'll  kiss  it,"  said  Blessington.  And 
did. 

Archie  looked  at  her. 

"Why  are  you  crying?"  he  asked,  wriggling  his 
foot  away  from  her.  He  did  not  want  it  to  be 
kissed. 

"Crying?  I'm  just  laughing,"  said  Blessington. 
And  that  was  true;  she  was  laughing.  But  she  was 
crying  also. 

An  idea  struck  Archie  which  had  not  occurred 
to  him  before. 

"Am  I  ill,  Blessington?"  he  asked.  "Am  I  going 
to  die?" 

At  that  there  was  no  question  of  what  Blessing- 
ton was  doing.  Her  laughing  quite  ceased,  and  she 
gave  a  great  sob. 

"No,  my  darling,  you're  not  going  to  die,"  she 
said.  "Get  that  out  of  your  silly  head.  You're 
not  .  .  ." 

And  then  she  broke  down  altogether,  and  hid 
her  face  in  the  towel  with  which  she  had  been  wash- 
ing Archie's  left  foot.  He  saw  her  shoulders  shak- 
ing: he  knew  that,  for  some  reason,  she  could  not 
speak.  But  she  was  crying,  and  was  not  cross  with 
him  for  being  cross.  It  behooved  a  man  to  admin- 
ister consolation. 

"Oh,  don't  cry,  Blessington,"  he  said.    "What  is 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM       .      93 

there  to  cry  about?  Unless  it's  because  I'm  so 
cross." 

"I  don't  mind  your  crossness,"  she  said.  "You 
let  me  finish  wiping  your  foot.  And  then  111  go 
down  and  tell  your  Mamma " 

"Oh,  don't  say  I  was  cross,"  said  Archie.  "I'm 
sorry  I  was  cross." 

"Nay,  I'll  just  tell  her  how  much  better  you  feel 
this  morning.  And  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  there  was 
a  great  treat  coming:  something  you'll  like  ever  so 
much." 

"Is  it  another  train?"  asked  Archie. 

"Bless  the  boy!"  said  she.  "How  you  think  about 
trains!" 

Archie  ate  his  breakfast,  and  passed  an  entranc- 
ing morning.  Everybody  seemed  desirous  of  con- 
gratulating him,  as  if  he  had  done  something  par- 
ticularly meritorious,  as  on  the  occasion  of  his  not 
getting  drowned  when  he  jumped  out  of  the  boat 
after  the  pike.  He  held  a  sort  of  levee,  the  most 
remarkable  incident  of  which  was  the  appearance 
of  Miss  Bampton  with  a  piece  of  white  chalk,  with 
which  she  drew  on  the  green  drugget  by  his  bed, 
so  that  he  could  easily  see  it,  a  great  map  of  Eng- 
land and  Central  Europe.  There  was  the  South 
of  England,  with  London  written  large,  and  here 
was  Lacebury  also  conspicuously  marked.  Then 
there  was  the  English  Channel  with  France  below 
it  and  Paris  in  the  middle,  and  away  to  the  right, 
some  distance  below,  the  Lake  of  Geneva.  Then 
still  explaining,  she  made  marks  like  caterpillars 
which  were  mountains,  and  said  that  now  the  moun- 
tains were  covered  with  snow,  even  down  to  the 
tail  of  the  caterpillars,  and  below  was  the  Lake  of 


94.  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Geneva  quite  blue.  All  the  roads  were  covered 
with  snow  up  by  the  caterpillars'  tails,  and  there 
w^ere  no  wheels  on  the  carriages,  but  they  slid  over 
the  frozen  snow  instead.  There  was  skating  up 
there,  for  they  made  lakes  which  were  covered  with 
ice.  They  just  put  water  into  flat  places,  and  there 
was  your  lake,  and  it  instantly  froze.  It  never 
rained  there,  but  if  it  wanted  to  do  anything,  it 
just  snowed.  Usually  it  didn't  want  to  do  anything, 
and  there  was  the  sun  and  the  snow,  and  wouldn't 
it  be  jolly  to  go  there? 

This  presented  itself  to  Archie's  mind  as  a  purely 
abstract  proposition.  Of  course  it  would  be  jolly 
to  go  to  a  place  where  you  saw  the  real  mountains 
and  had  a  glimpse  of  the  real  Lake  of  Geneva,  and 
slid  instead  of  walking,  but  what  next?  Did  any  one 
ever  go  there? 

Apparently.  Right  at  the  tail  of  the  caterpillar, 
was  a  placed  called  Schonberg.  There  it  was,  writ- 
ten down :  the  railway  only  went  as  far  as  Bex,  and 
there  the  sledges  began.  And  always  the  sun  shone, 
so  that  you  sat  out  of  doors  with  the  snow  all 
around  you,  and  felt  perfectly  warm. 

Suddenly  Archie  could  stand  it  no  longer.  It 
was  like  talking  to  a  starving  man  about  roast  beef. 
There  was  roast  beef  somewhere  in  the  world  and 
he  wanted  it  so  badly.  In  the  same  way  something 
inside  Archie  starved  for  sun  and  snow  and  thin  air. 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Miss  Bampton,"  he  said.  "I  want 
it  so  frightfully." 

His  mother  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  bed 
watching  the  map  of  Europe. 

"Archie,  we're  going  to  Schonberg  in  a  few  days," 
she  said.  "You  and  Blessington  and  Jeannie  and  I." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  95 

It  was  a  memorable  moment  when  the  boat  rose 
up  and  then  curtsied  again  to  the  big  seas  that  were 
jostling  each  other  up  the  Channel.  Archie's  only- 
knowledge  of  the  sea  was  culled  from  a  single  visit 
to  Brighton  two  years  ago,  and  the  sea  to  him  then 
appeared  but  one  among  an  assembly  of  unusual 
bright  objects,  nigger-minstrels  and  tin  buckets  and 
piers  and  penny-in-the-slot  machines.  But  on  this 
bright  winter  day  he  hailed  a  new  and  glorious  crea- 
ture, when  he  saw  the  steep  white-capped  waves, 
grey  in  the  bulk  but  lit  with  lovely  green  where  they 
were  thin,  come  streaming  up  to  the  ship's  side  and 
fall  away  again  in  puffs  of  white  smoke  and  squirts 
of  high-flung  foam.  Warmly  wrapped  up  in  his 
new  fur-coat  he  sat  on  deck  sheltered  from  the 
weather  and  watched  with  ecstatic  wonder  the  rol- 
licking untamed  creature  that  sent  the  boat  now 
over  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other,  and  threw  it  up 
and  caught  it  again  within  its  firm  liquid  embrace. 
Behind  them  lay  a  wake  of  white  foam,  like  a  long 
string  still  tying  them  to  dazzling  chalk  cliffs  and 
the  wave-smothered  pier,  and  overhead  the  masts, 
thrumming  to  the  wind,  struck  right  and  left  across 
a  wide  arc  of  the  sky,  and  their  shadows  sped  across 
the  deck.  These  swervings  and  upliftings  and  de- 
scents of  the  ship  as  she  whacked  her  way  across 
the  shifting  mountains  produced  in  him  no  physical 
discomfort,  but  only  the  sense  that  a  new  and  glori- 
ous being  had  come  into  his  life. 

All  too  soon,  even  as  the  jig-saw  puzzle  of  the 
map  of  Europe  had  warned  him  by  the  narrowness 
of  the  straits,  the  shores  of  France  began  to  rear 
themselves  up  above  the  wave-moulded  horizon,  and 
presently  another  pier  received  them,  and  men  spoke 
a  strange  tongue  (probably  French,  though  it  might 


96  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

have  been  Hebrew)  and  made  novel  gestures,  and 
wore  blouses,  and  boots  that  turned  up  at  the  toes 
more  than  was  usual  in  England,  There  was  no 
platforms:  you  had  to  climb  the  sheer  carriage  side 
from  ground  level,  and  the  engines  were  altogether 
different  and  the  movement  of  the  train  was  other 
than  that  he  was  accustomed  to.  Then,  sure  enough, 
they  came  after  nightfall  to  a  great  town,  and 
drove  across  it,  keeping  firmly  to  the  wrong  side 
of  the  road,  though,  as  everybody  else  did  the  same, 
there  were  not  so  many  collisions  as  might  have  been 
expected.  Then  came  the  novelty  of  eating  dinner 
in  a  restaurant  perched  up  in  another  station  from 
the  windows  of  which  you  could  romantically  ob- 
serve train  after  train  sliding  out  into  the  winter 
night.  Before  long  Archie's  train  did  the  same,  and 
then  came  the  glorious  experience  of  undressing  in 
a  train,  while  it  was  going  at  full  speed.  There 
was  never  so  remarkable  a  bedroom,  all  gold  and 
looking-glass  and  stamped  leather,  and  instead  of 
his  bed  and  Blessington's  being  put  on  the  floor, 
one,  which  Archie  begged  to  have,  was  put  above 
the  other.  Close  by  him  in  the  roof  of  the  carriage 
was  the  electric  light  which,  when  you  turned  a 
small  handle  the  requisite  distance,  dwindled  to  a 
mere  speck  of  light.  At  some  timeless  hour  he  woke 
up,  and  found  a  very  polite  stranger  in  his  bedroom 
to  w^hom  Blessington  explained  that  they  had  neither 
spirits  nor  lace  nor  tobacco  in  their  luggage.  And 
the  total  stranger  then  apparently  guessed  that  he 
had  been  misinformed,  for  he  went  away  again 
without  another  word. 

The  clever  train  found  its  way  without  any  mis- 
take through  the  darkness  of  the  long  winter's  night, 
for  next  morning  it  was  skimming  along  by  the  edge 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  97 

of  a  lalve  so  large  that  no  wonder  it  appeared  on 
the  jig-saw  map  of  Europe.  The  lake  at  home,  once 
an  almost  boundless  sheet  of  water,  was  no  more 
than  a  wayside  puddle  to  this,  the  hills  at  home 
were  no  more  than  the  tunnelled  earth  of  moles 
compared  to  those  slopes  on  which  the  rows  of 
pines  looked  smaller  than  the  edging  of  a  table- 
cloth against  the  blue.  Blue?  Archie  thought  he 
had  never  known  what  blue  was  till  now,  nor  what 
sunshine  was  until  he  saw  the  dazzle  of  it  on  those 
sparkling  slopes.  And  they,  so  his  mother  told  him, 
were  not  mountains  at  all :  they  were  only  hills,  but 
soon  he  should  see  what  mountains  meant.  As  they 
passed  through  the  glittering  towns  that  stood  on 
the  edge  of  the  lake,  he  could  see  the  sledges  slid- 
ing over  the  streets  with  jingle  of  bells  crisply 
sounding  in  the  alert  air.  Other  smaller  sledges 
were  drawn  by  pleased,  smiling  dogs, — there  was 
never  such  a  morning  of  discoveries.  The  only 
draw-back  was  that  though  it  ought  only  to  have 
been  ten  o'clock  the  Swiss  chose  that  it  should  be 
eleven,  and  thus  an  hour  of  this  immortal  day  was 
lost.  But  his  mother  told  him  that  the  French  had 
taken  care  of  it,  and  would  give  it  back  to  them  when 
they  returned. 

All  this  was  romantic  enough,  but  the  romance 
grew  more  deep-hued  yet  when  in  the  early  after- 
noon Archie  was  packed  into  a  sleigh  and  the  jour- 
ney up  through  the  pine-woods  began.  White-capped 
and  white-cloaked  stood  the  red-trunked  trees,  and 
now  and  then  with  a  falling  puff  of  snow  a  laden 
branch,  free  of  its  burden,  sprang  upwards  again. 
Then  the  pines  were  tired  of  climbing  and  the  sleigh 
left  them  and  came  out  onto  a  plateau  high  above 
the  valley.     And  could  that  have  been  sunshine 


98  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

down  there?  For  the  valley  seemed  choked  with 
grey  fog,  and  here  above  was  real  sunshme  and  air 
that  refreshed  you  as  with  wine.  The  hills  that  had 
appeared  so  gigantic  had  sunk  below  them,  but  be- 
hind them  rose  the  spears  and  precipices,  remote 
and  blue,  of  the  real  mountains,  and  as  they  went 
upwards,  these  soared  ever  above  them,  and  present- 
ly the  blue  on  them  was  tinged  with  apricot  and 
rose  in  the  glow  of  the  declining  sun.  And  the 
driver  cracked  his  whip  and  the  horses  jingled  their 
bells  in  response,  and,  pointing  with  it  to  a  row  of 
toy  houses  still  far  above  them,  he  grinned  at  Archie 
and  said  "Schonberg." 

The  rose  of  sunset  had  faded  and  the  snows  were 
turned  to  ivory-crystal  beneath  the  full  moon  when 
they  entered  the  long,  lit  village  street,  with  its  old 
carved  wooden  houses,  deep-balconied  towards  the 
south,  and  the  modern  hotels  now  just  opening  again 
for  the  winter  season.  These,  too,  they  left  behind 
them  and  again  mounting  a  steep  slope,  came  to 
where,  round  a  sudden  corner,  stood  the  big  chalet 
which  Archie's  mother  had  taken. 

"And  here  we  are,"  she  said. 

Archie  sat  staring.  Somehow  he  felt  he  knew 
the  house:  perhaps  it  was  a  house  he  had  dreamed 
of.  There  were  pines  to  right  and  left  of  it,  just 
as  there  were  in  this  picture  of  a  house  that  existed 
somewhere  in  his  mind:  it  had  the  same  broad  bal- 
conies, where  you  could  lie  all  day  in  the  sun,  and 
look  over  the  village  roofs  below  and  across  the 
valley  from  which  all  afternoon  they  had  climbed. 
He  felt  he  knew  it  inside,  too :  there  would  be  rooms 
with  wooden  walls,  and  china  stoves — where  had 
he  heard  of  china  stoves? — and  the  smell  of  pine- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  99 

wood  haunting  all  the  house.  It  was  extraordinarily 
interesting.  .  .  . 

A  big  genial  woman  had  turned  up  the  electric 
light  outside  the  door  when  she  heard  the  crack 
of  the  driver's  whip,  and  stood  bareheaded,  ready  to 
welcome  them.  Archie  felt  that  he  knew  some- 
thing about  her,  too. 

"Ah,  miladi,"  she  said  to  his  mother  in  very  crisp 
good  English,  yet  with  a  funny  precision  as  if  she 
had  learned  it  as  a  lesson,  "I  give  you  welcome 
back  to  Schonberg.  And  how  is  my  dear  Madame 
Blessington?" 

Archie  thought  his  mother  interrupted  these  greet- 
ings rather  suddenly. 

"How  are  you,  Madame  Seller?"  she  said.  "And 
here  is  my  daughter  Jeannie  and  Archie" — and  she 
added  something  in  an  undertone,  which  sounded 
like  the  language  Miss  Schwarz  used  to  talk. 

Madame  Seller  whisked  round  with  renewed  cor- 
diality. 

"And  such  lovely  weather  you  have  come  to,"  she 
said.  "The  sun  all  day  and  the  frost  all  night.  But 
we  keep  out  the  frost  and  let  the  sun  in." 

They  passed  into  the  entrance  hall,  aromatic  and 
warm,  heated  by  a  big  china  stove  that  roared  pleas- 
antly, and  instantly,  without  any  reason,  there  came 
into  Archie's  mind  the  remembrance  of  the  words 
his  hand  had  scribbled  one  morning  with  the  sig- 
nature "Martin."  It  came  out  of  the  darkness  like 
a  light  seen  distantly  at  night,  it  flashed  like  a  sig- 
nal and  vanished  again.  But  for  one  second  it  had 
been  there,  remote,  but  visible  and  luminous. 

Lady  Davidstow,  for  some  obscure  and  grown-up 
reason,  thought  good  at  supper  that  night  to  ex- 
plain incidentally  that  she  had  written  to  Madame 


100  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Seller  that  Blessington  was  coming,  and  that  was 
how  she  had  known  Blessington's  name.  Archie 
had  a  very  strong  and  wholesome  confidence  in  his 
mother,  but  he  knew  that  grown-up  people  some- 
times made  statements  which  have  got  (by  the 
rules)  to  be  accepted,  but  which  do  not  always  con- 
vince. Blessington's  saying  that  she  could  not  run 
any  more  because  she  had  a  bone  in  her  leg,  was  an 
instance  of  this  class  of  statement,  as  also  was  the 
occasion  when  his  mother  spoke  a  year  ago  about 
Abracadabra's  sneezings.  This  mode  of  accounting 
for  Madame  Seller's  knowing  Blessington's  name 
came  under  the  same  head:  as  far  as  it  went  it 
might  be  true,  and  though  it  did  not  particularly 
interest  him  whether  it  was  true,  so  to  speak,  all 
the  way,  he  felt  that  there  was  something  mildly 
mysterious  about  it.  And  having  made  this  un- 
convincing statement,  his  mother  at  once  passed 
on  to  more  interesting  topics. 

It  was  a  blow  when  Blessington  called  him  next 
morning  to  be  told  that  he  was  tired  with  the  journey 
and  must  stop  in  bed  for  breakfast.  That  was  a 
perfectly  unfounded  statement,  but  like  those  others 
had  grumblingly  to  be  accepted,  though  Archie 
knew  quite  well  that  he  had  never  felt  less  tired. 

"You  mayn't  feel  it,  dear,"  said  Blessington,  "but 
you  are." 

"I  should  think  I  ought  to  know  best,"  said 
Archie. 

"No,  I  knew  best,"  said  Blessington  firmly.  "And 
your  Mamma  says  so  too." 

Archie  began  to  wonder,  as  he  ate  the  most  deli- 
cious hot  rolls,  whether  they  were  not  right.  He 
did  not  feel  tired,  as  he  had  told  Blessington,  but 
something  inside  him  said  that  it  did  pot  want  to 


ACROSS  THE  STREAJM  101 

run  about,  or  even  skate,  but  it  was  very  well  pleased 
that  his  body,  well  wrapped  up,  should  sit  up  in 
bed,  and  bask  in  the  sun  which  blazed  in  through 
the  opened  French  window  communicating  with  the 
big  balcony  outside  his  room.  Then  after  break- 
fast there  came  in  his  mother  with  a  big  jovial  man, 
whose  name  was  Dr.  Dobie. 

"I  never  saw  such  a  lazy  fellow,"  exclaimed  this 
rather  attractive  person.    "Fancy  not  being  up  yet." 

"They  wouldn't  let  me,"  said  Archie. 

"Well,  as  soon  as  I've  had  a  look  at  you,  up  you 
shall  get,"  said  the  doctor.  "But  I  can't  wait  till 
you're  dressed.    Now  undo  your  coat  a  minute." 

Once  again  the  instrument  with  plugs  was  pro- 
duced, and  the  "ninety-nine"  game  played. 

"That's  capital,"  said  the  doctor,  "and  now  in  a 
minute  I'll  have  done  with  you.  Just  put  that  into 
your  mouth  with  the  end  under  your  tongue.  There, 
like  that." 

This  was  a  very  short  process,  and  Dr.  Dobie  got 
up. 

"Now,  my  plan  for  you  is  this,"  he  said.  "You 
shall  dress  and  lie  out  in  the  sun  on  your  balcony. 
And  after  you've  had  dinner,  you  shall  go  for  a 
sleigh  drive,  and  walk  a  little  on  your  way  back. 
Then  balcony  again,  till  it's  dark." 

"But  mayn't  I  skate?"  asked  Archie,  who  didn't 
really  want  to. 

"No,  not  just  yet.  We'll  have  you  skating  before 
long,  but  not  at  present.  The  more  you  do  as 
you're  told,  the  sooner  you'll  skate." 

During  the  next  week,  but  so  gradually  that  at 
no  moment  was  it  a  discovery,  it  dawned  on  Archie 
that  he  was  ill,  and  that  his  illness  dated  from  the 
time  when  his  mouth  bled.    The  knowledge  did  not 


102  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

in  the  least  depress  him,  because  with  it  came  the 
absolute  certainty  in  his  own  mind  that  he  was  go- 
ing to  get  quite  well  again.  For  the  most  part  he 
did  not  feel  ill,  though  there  was  often  an  uncom- 
fortable period  towards  evening  when  he  felt  some- 
times hot  and  sometimes  cold,  and  one  moment 
would  want  another  coat  on,  and  soon  would  have 
liked  to  throw  off  all  the  clothes  he  had.  These  odd 
feelings  were  accompanied  by  a  sort  of  extra  vivid- 
ness in  his  perceptions:  he  felt  tingling  and  alert, 
and  the  lights  seemed  brighter  than  their  wont.  But 
when  this  had  been  more  marked  than  usual  in  the 
evening,  he  always  felt  very  tired  next  day,  and 
more  than  once  he  did  not  get  up  at  all  but  had 
his  bed  pulled  out  onto  the  balcony.  Then  as  the 
weeks  passed  on,  there  was  less  of  this,  and  before 
long  he  was  allowed  to  tie  his  toboggan  to  the  back 
of  the  sleigh,  and  be  towed  up  hill  through  the  pine- 
wood  that  climbed  the  slopes  behind  the  village. 
That  was  a  delightful  experience ;  on  each  side  stood 
the  snowy  trees  frosted  like  a  Christmas  cake,  now 
almost  meeting  above  the  narrow  traek,  and  then 
standing  away  from  it  again,  so  that  the  deluge  of 
sun  poured  down  as  into  a  pool  while  from  in  front 
came  the  jingle  of  the  horse's  bells,  and  from  below 
him  the  squeak  of  his  runners.  Then  they  came  out 
again  onto  the  ski-ing  slopes,  where  visitors  to 
Schonberg  played  the  entrancing  game  of  seeing, 
apparently,  who  could  fall  down  most  often  in  the 
most  complicated  manner.  Where  the  slope  was 
steepest  there  was  erected  a  sort  of  platform  so  that 
the  runner  flying  down  the  slope  above  was 
shot  into  the  air  touching  ground  again  yards  be- 
low. Or,  on  other  mornings,  when  things  went  well, 
and  there  had  been  no  hot-and-cold  period  the  eve- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  103 

ning  before,  he  tobogganed  down  the  slope  below 
the  house  to  the  edge  of  the  skating-rink  and  sat 
there  in  the  snow,  with  everything  round  frozen 
hard,  yet  feeling  perfectly  warm,  so  potent  were  the 
beams  of  this  ineffable  sun  through  the  thin,  dry 
air.  Jeannie  was  learning  to  skate  and  progressed 
in  wobbling  half-circles,  and  shrilly  announced  that 
this  and  no  other  was  the  outside  edge.  Or  four  of 
the  experts  in  a  railed-off  and  hallowed  place  at  the 
end  of  the  huge  rink  would  put  down  an  orange, 
and  proceed  to  weave  a  mystic  dance  in  obedience 
to  the  shouted  orders  of  one  of  them.  At  one  mo- 
ment all  four  would  be  swiftly  converging  on  a 
back-edge  to  their  orange,  and  just  at  the  moment 
when  a  complicated  collision  seemed  imminent 
would  somehow  change  their  direction,  and,  lo,  all 
four  were  sailing  outwards  and  forwards  again  in 
big  sweeping  curves.  Then  there  were  the  hoarse, 
angry  cries  of  the  curlers  to  listen  to,  and  the  pleas- 
ant sight  of  the  stone  sliding  swiftly  down  the  ice 
and  butting  with  a  hollow  chunk  into  any  other 
that  stood  in  its  way.  And  then  a  slow,  sliding 
stone  would  come  down,  and  people  swept  violently 
in  front  of  it  to  encourage  it  not  to  lie  down  and 
die,  which  for  the  most  part  it  did.  But  always 
too  soon  his  mother  or  Blessington  would  come  to 
tell  him  that  it  was  time  to  go  home  again  and  he 
would  tie  his  toboggan  to  the  back  of  the  sledge 
and  be  pulled  up-hill  to  the  house.  That  was  a 
tiresome  moment,  and  Archie  found  himself  won- 
dering with  a  pang  of  jealousy  why,  when  so  many 
were  hale  and  hearty  round  him,  it  should  be  just 
he  who  was  obliged  to  go  and  lie  down  in  the  bal- 
cony, instead  of  skating  or  curling.  But  even  when 
he  had  set-backs,  and  had  to  lie  all  day  on  the  bal- 


104  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

cony,  he  never  faltered  in  his  belief  that  he  was 
going  to  get  well. 

Here  then,  in  brief,  were  the  outward  aspects  of 
Archie's  life  at  Schonberg,  new  and  attractive  and 
full  of  sun  and  dry  powdery  snow.  He  took  no  ac- 
tive part  in  these  activities  and  was  but  an  ob- 
server, but  all  the  time  there  were  inward  aspects 
of  his  life  which  no  one  shared  with  him,  and  which 
no  one  ever  observed.  He  was  always  on  the  alert 
even  on  those  mornings  of  tiredness  after  he  had 
had  a  rise  of  temperature  the  evening  before  for 
the  development  of  a  certain  thing,  the  existence 
of  which  came  to  him  only  in  hints  and  whispers. 
But  the  thing  itself  was  always  there,  though 
he  had  no  control  over  its  manifestations.  He  could 
no  more  bring  it  into  the  exterior  life  of  the  senses, 
he  could  no  more  see  or  hear  it  or  produce  any  evi- 
dence of  it,  as  he  willed,  than  he  could  make  the 
sun  pierce  and  scatter  the  clouds,  which  for  a  whole 
week  in  January  alternately  rained  and  snowed  on 
to  Schonberg.  All  he  could  do  was  to  wait  for  it, 
and  he  waited  in  a  perpetual  serene  excitement.  It 
came  always  when  he  was  alone:  he  got  to  think 
of  solitude,  in  this  present  stage,  as  an  essential  for 
its  manifestation.  And,  as  the  weeks  went  on,  he 
associated  it  more  and  more  with  the  balcony  on 
which  he  lay  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day.  It, 
the  thing  he  waited  for  and  was  completely  silent 
about,  even  when  he  had  intimate  good-night  talks 
with  his  mother,  was  no  other  than  "Martin"  (who- 
ever Martin  might  be)  whose  presence  had  come 
into  his  mind  with  such  unexpected  vividness  when 
first  he  saw  the  chalet.  Never  was  the  idea  of 
"Martin"  absent  from  his  mind:  it  might  lurk  con- 
cealed behind  the  excitement  of  trailing  after  the 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  105 

sleigh,  or  of  watching  the  skaters  on  the  ice,  but  at 
all  times  it  was  ready  to  enfilade  him.  And  among 
all  the  diversions  of  the  snow  and  the  ice  and  the 
sun,  he  had  an  inward  eye  turned  towards  this  in- 
scrutable "Martin,"  no  winged  nester  in  the  sand- 
cliffs,  but  somebody,  somebody.  .  .  . 

Lessons  in  a  mild  way  had  begun  again  before 
this  wretched  rainy  and  snowy  week,  and  Miss 
Bampton  sent  out  from  home  the  most  entrancing 
and  topical  copies.  "Hot  outside-edge  for  lunch,"  was 
one,  in  allusion  to  the  news  of  Jeannie's  skating; 
"Cold  inside-edge  for  dinner,"  was  another.  Jeannie, 
during  lesson-time,  used  to  sit  out  on  Archie's  bal- 
cony and  do  her  more  advanced  tasks,  which,  with 
his,  were  taken  in  to  Lady  Davidstow  for  correction. 
More  often  she  used  to  sit  on  the  balcony,  too,  but 
during  this  damp  abominable  week  she  suffered  from 
a  heavy  cold,  and  the  lessons  were  brought  to  her 
by  Jeannie.  And  on  this  particular  morning  Jean- 
nie had  finished  her  French  translation  first,  and 
so  went  in  to  her  mother  to  have  it  corrected,  leav- 
ing Archie  to  finish  the  last  three  lines  of  his  copy. 

Ever  since  his  first  entry  into  the  house,  there 
had  been  for  him  nothing  more  than  the  perception 
of  Martin's  presence.  With  the  patience  of  a  child 
who  wants  something,  a  thing  only  equalled  by  the 
patience  of  a  cat  watching  a  mouse-hole,  he  had 
never  taken  his  inward  eye  off  this.  He  was  always 
ready  for  it.  As  Jeannie  went  in  with  her  com- 
pleted French  lesson,  he  laid  down  his  pen,  and 
looked  for  a  moment  at  the  streaming  icicles  on  the 
eaves  of  his  shelter,  and  listened  with  a  sense  of 
depression  to  the  drip  of  the  melted  water  that 
formed  grey  pits  in  the  whiteness  of  the  snow  be- 
low.   Because  there  was  a  thaw,  the  air  felt  colder 


106  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

than  when  there  were  twenty  degrees  of  frost,  and 
the  blanket  on  his  couch  was  studded  with  con- 
densed moisture.  "It  is  warmer,"  thought  Archie 
to  hhnself,  "so  it  ought  to  be  warmer.  But  it's 
colder." 

At  this  moment,  he  felt  a  sudden  thrill  in  his 
right  wrist,  and  thought  that  a  melted  drop  had 
fallen  on  it.  But  he  saw  there  was  no  drop  there, 
and  wondered  at  this  sensation  of  touch.  Then  he 
saw  his  fingers  begin  to  twitch,  and  instantly  rec- 
ognised the  sensation  he  had  felt  once  before.  He 
swept  his  incomplete  copy  off  his  pad  of  blotting 
paper,  and  took  his  pen  up  again.  Surely  he  could 
write  on  his  blotting-paper. 

At  first  the  meaningless  scribbles  appeared,  made 
more  grotesque  and  senseless  by  the  running  of  the 
ink.  There  was  a  pencil  on  the  table  by  him,  and 
he  took  that  up  instead  of  the  pen,  while  his  hand 
twitched  and  jerked  to  be  at  its  task  again.  The 
day  before  he  had  pinched  his  finger  in  the  hinge 
of  a  slamming  window,  and  he  saw  the  moonshaped 
blot  of  blood  below  the  nail  quivering  as  his  fingers 
starved  to  hold  an  instrument  of  writing  again.  Then 
his  hand  settled  down,  like  a  hovering  bird  onto  a 
bough,  as  he  picked  up  the  pencil. 

For  a  little  while  the  scribbles  went  on:  then 
watching  the  marks  on  the  blotting-paper  just  as 
an  excited  spectator  watches  the  action  of  a  play, 
he  saw  words  coming.  His  brain  did  not  know  what 
they  were  till  they  appeared  on  the  paper. 

"Archie,  Archie,"  said  the  pencil,  "I  want  to  talk 
to  you.  I  can't  always,  but  sometimes  I  can.  Dear 
Archie,  try  to  be  ready  when  I  get  through.  Lovely 
to  talk  to  you.    Can't  to  mother." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  107 

An  incontrollable  excitement  seized  the  boy.  "Oh, 
who  is  it?"  he  said  aloud.    "Is  it  Martin?" 

He  felt  the  twitching  die  away  in  his  fingers,  and 
presently  he  was  left  sitting  there,  his  copy  on  the 
floor  and  the  scrawl  on  the  blotting  paper.  But 
he  had,  somewhere  inside  him,  a  sense  of  extraordi- 
nary satisfaction.  Something  or  somebody  had  "got 
through,"  whatever  that  meant.  The  words  in  pen- 
cil on  his  blotting  paper  had  "got  through."  And  he 
turned  it  over  hastily,  and  picked  up  the  unfinished 
copy,  as  the  door  handle  into  his  room  rattled,  and 
Jeannie  came  out  onto  the  balcony  again  with  her 
corrected  French  exercise. 

Several  days  of  this  chilly,  dripping  weather,  with 
the  fohn  wind  from  the  South  went  by,  and  when 
that  ceased,  and  the  wind  veered  to  the  north,  blow- 
ing high  over  Schonberg,  and  raising  feathers  of 
snow-dust  on  the  peaks  to  the  north,  while  the 
sheltered  valley  basked  in  calm  and  sunlight  again, 
there  were  still  more  days  of  carting  the  snow  from 
the  rinks  before  any  further  development  took  place 
in  Archie's  secret  life.  This  carting  of  the  snow 
was  splendid  fun,  for  when  a  hand-sleigh  of  it  was 
piled  high,  Archie  would  squat  on  the  front  of  it 
(thereby  adding  considerably  to  the  weight)  and 
in  a  shrill  voice  direct  the  man  who  pushed  it  to 
right  or  left,  in  order  to  reach  the  steep  bank  down 
which  they  discharged  their  burden.  When  they 
were  come  to  the  edge  of  it,  some  large  strong  man 
lifted  Archie  off  his  perch,  and  waited  with  him, 
while  the  sleigh  was  pushed  to  the  very  brink,  and 
its  burden  overturned  in  a  jolly,  lumpy  avalanche 
that  poured  down  the  built-up  bank  of  the  rink. 
Then  Archie  mounted  his  throne  again  and  was 
pulled  back  to  where  the  men  with  spades  loaded 


108  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

up  again.  .  .  .  When  the  sleigh  seemed  to  be  suffi- 
ciently full,  he  called  out  "Stop,"  and  made  the  re- 
turn journey  to  the  side  of  the  rink.  This  was  all 
tremendously  grand  and  he  had  an  idea  that  the 
clearing  of  the  rink  could  never  have  taken  place 
without  him.  Certainly  his  sleigh  worked  much 
faster  than  any  other,  for,  in  his  honour,  those  who 
pushed  always  ran  to  discharge  their  burden  at  top 
speed,  instead  of  going  slowly  like  the  others. 

"Oh,  that  was  a  pace,"  he  would  say  as  some- 
body lifted  him  off.  "Look,  Mummy,  they're  going 
to  turn  it  over." 

The  rink  then  was  clear  again  (thanks  to  Archie's 
great  exertions)  before  his  secret  life  made  any 
step  forward.  But  one  afternoon  when  he  had  been 
watching  the  skating  from  his  balcony,  something 
further  occurred.  He  was  alone,  for  his  mother  had 
gone  down  with  Jeannie  to  the  rink,  and  Blessing- 
ton  had  gone  shopping,  and  there  was  a  bell  by  him, 
by  means  of  which  he  could  summon  Madame  Seller 
if  he  wanted  anything.  But  he  had  no  thoughts  of 
summoning  Madame  Seller,  he  was  extremely  con- 
tent to  lie  in  the  sun,  and  watch  the  rink  some- 
times, and  sometimes  to  read  a  fascinating  book 
called  "The  Rose  and  the  Ring,"  which  his  mother 
had  given  him.  There  were  absurd  pictures  of 
Prince  Bulbo,  an  enormously  fat  young  gentle- 
man, whom  Archie  did  not  wish  to  resemble,  but 
was  rather  afraid  of  resembling,  since  Dr.  Dobie 
at  his  last  visit  had  told  him  he  was  getting  f at  .  .  . 

It  was  all  very  peaceful  and  happy,  and  he  had 
lost  interest  in  Jeannie's  falls  and  even  in  Prince 
Bulbo's  executions,  and  was  staring  placidly  at  a 
very  bright  spot  of  glistening  snow  which  caught 
the  sun  at  the  edge  of  the  rink,  when  lines  of  shadow 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  109 

began  to  pass  over  the  field  of  his  vision,  exactly 
as  they  used  to  pass  over  the  green-lit  ceiling  of 
his  night-nursery  at  home.  This  was  interesting: 
he  did  not  feel  in  the  least  sleepy,  but  very  wide- 
awake, and  was  conscious  of  sinking  down  through 
this  lovely  luminous  air,  with  the  bright  spot  of 
light  getting  every  moment  higher  above  him,  when 
he  suddenly  heard  his  name  called. 

"Archie,  Archie,"  said  the  voice,  which  was  close 
to  him,  and  wonderfully  friendly.  And  at  the  same 
moment  he  felt  on  the  back  of  his  hand  the  touch 
of  another  hand  that  was  smooth  and  young  and 
somehow  familiar,  though  he  had  never  felt  it  be- 
fore. 

He  tried  not  to  disturb  the  impression.  There 
was  some  sort  of  spell  on  him,  light  as  a  gossamer- 
web,  which  the  slightest  movement,  physical  or 
mental,  on  his  part,  might  break. 

"Yes,  I'm  Archie,"  he  said. 

But  the  moment  he  spoke,  he  knew  that  he  had 
spoken  somehow  in  the  wrong  way.  Another  part 
of  him,  not  his  lips  and  their  voluntary  movements, 
should  have  answered.  He  ought  to  have  thought 
the  answer  with  that  part  of  him  that  saw  the  lines 
of  shadow  passing  across  the  bright  steel  surface 
of  the  rink  below,  that  felt  himself  sinking  down  and 
down  beneath  the  bright  spot  opposite.  ...  He 
could  not  have  explained,  but  he  knew  it  was  so, 
and  instantly  there  he  was  back  on  his  balcony  again 
with  "The  Rose  and  the  Ring"  in  his  hand,  and 
Jeannie  on  the  rink,  Madame  Seller  clattering  dishes 
in  the  kitchen,  and  himself  all  alone,  lying  in  the 
sunshine.  He  knew  that  something  inside  him  had 
been  tremendously  happy  when  his  name  was  called 
and  his  hand  touched  in  that  intimate  manner,  and 


110  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

now  that  the  touch  and  the  voice  were  gone,  he  felt 
something  akin  to  what  he  felt  when  he  was  fever- 
ish, and  Blessington  had  said  "good  night"  and  left 
him.  But  then  he  always  knew  that  Blessington 
had  only  gone  into  the  next  room,  and  could  be 
summoned.  And  he  could  not  summon  that  which 
had  called  "Archie"  to  him.  He  had  not  the  least 
doubt  that  it  was  Martin  who  had  called,  that  it 
was  Martin's  hand  that  had  been  laid  on  his.  But 
who  was  this  dear  person  called  "Martin,"  and  where 
was  Martin?  Secure  in  the  knowledge  that  it  was 
Martin  who  had  come  to  him,  and  touched  him  and 
called  to  him,  he  put  down  his  book,  and  shut  his 
eyes  so  that  his  feeling  of  being  alone  should  be 
intensified. 

"Martin,"  he  whispered.    "Oh,  Martin!" 

He  lay  there  tense  and  excited,  sure  that  Martin 
would  come  again.  Then  in  a  dim,  child-like  man- 
ner, not  formulating  anything  to  himself,  but  only 
feeling  his  way,  he  knew  he  had  called  wrong.  He 
must  call  differently,  if  he  hoped  to  have  any  re- 
ply, call  from  inside.  But  the  more  earnestly  he  at- 
tempted to  "call  from  inside,"  the  further  he  got 
away  from  that  "inside"  mood,  which  he  knew,  but 
could  not  recapture. 

"Oh,  what  rot!"  he  said  at  length,  and  picked  up 
"The  Rose  and  the  Ring"  again  to  ascertain  whether 
Bulbo  was  really  going  to  be  executed  on  this  sec- 
ond occasion  when  he  piled  his  table  on  his  bed 
and  his  chair  on  his  table,  and  his  hat-box  on  his 
chair,  and  peeped  out  of  the  window  from  his  hor- 
rid cell,  to  see  whether  it  was  eight  o'clock  yet.  .  .  . 

Every  day  in  this  return  of  frost  and  sunshine 
Archie  felt  stronger,  and  soon  the  desire  to  skate 
took  firm  hold  of  him.    Oddly  enough  the  pleasant 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  111 

Dr.  Dobie  began  to  agree  with  him,  and  withm  a 
day  or  two  of  the  time  when  Archie's  desire  to 
skate  became  a  pressing  need,  Dr.  Dobie  sanctioned 
it,  and  Archie  had  a  humiliating  hour  or  two.  He 
had  seen  Jeannie  lean  outwards,  and  announce  the 
outside-edge;  he  had  seen  Jeannie  lean  a  little  in- 
wards and  proclaim  the  inside-edge,  and  round  she 
went  in  curves  that  Archie  could  not  but  envy.  He 
had  only  got  to  lean  outwards  and  inwards  like 
that,  and  surely  he  was  master  of  his  curves.  But 
he  found  that  his  curves  were  master  of  him,  and 
tumbled  him  down  instead,  or  would  have  done  so 
if  a  kind  Swiss  on  skates  had  not  always  been  on 
hand  to  prevent  any  disaster  of  this  kind.  But  then 
Jeannie  had  learned,  so  it  seemed  to  Archie,  by 
falling  down,  and  he  resented  the  hand  that  saved 
him  from  falling. 

"Do  let  me  fall  down,"  he  said.  "I  can't  learn 
unless  I  fall  down." 

"Better  not  fall  down,  sir,"  said  this  amiable  young 
man.    "I  hold  you:  you  learn  best  so." 

"But  Jeannie  didn't,"  said  Archie. 

"No :  but  she  is  a  girl,"  whispered  his  Swiss. 

"Oh,  ought  girls  to  fall  down  and  not  boys?" 
asked  Archie  rather  interested  in  this  new  difference 
between  the  sexes. 

Archie  was  allowed  by  the  end  of  January  to 
skate  for  half  an  hour  before  lunch  with  his  Swiss 
hovering  over  him  like  a  friendly  eagle,  to  have 
lunch  with  Jeannie  seated  side  by  side  on  a  toboggan 
at  the  edge  of  the  rink,  and  skate  for  half  an  hour 
again  afterwards,  at  the  end  of  which  time  a  second 
eagle  appeared  in  the  person  of  Blessington  or  his 
mother  and  carried  him  off  to  the  sleigh.     Right 


112  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

on  through  half  February  lasted  the  golden  frosty 
weather:  then  came  a  great  snowfall  and  with  that 
the  frost  broke.  The  snow  degenerated  into  rain, 
the  wind  veered  again  into  the  slack  south  and  the 
roofs  dripped  and  the  trees  tossed  their  white  bur- 
dens from  them.  But  as  the  snow  melted  won- 
derful things  happened  in  the  earth  at  the  summons 
of  the  suns  of  spring,  for  gentians  pushed  their 
lengthening  stems  up  through  the  thinning  crust, 
and  put  forth  their  star-like  flowers,  deep  as  the 
blue  of  night  and  brilliant  as  the  blue  of  day.  The 
call  of  the  spring,  though  yet  the  snow  wreaths 
lingered,  pierced  through  them,  and  the  listening 
grasses  and  bulbs  pricked  up  their  little  green  ears 
above  the  soil.  Wonderful  as  last  spring  had  been, 
the  first  that  Archie  had  ever  consciously  noticed, 
this  Alpine  Primavera  was  twice  as  magical,  for 
winter  was  caught  in  her  very  arms  and  warmed  to 
life  again.  Morning  by  morning  the  pine-woods 
steamed  like  the  flank  of  a  horse,  and  when  the 
mists  cleared,  nature's  great  colour-box  had  been 
busy  again  with  fresh  greens  and  vivider  reds  on  the 
tree  trunks,  and  weak,  pale  snowdrops  and  mountain 
crocuses  shone  like  silver  and  gold  in  the  sheltered 
hollows.  A  more  tender  blue  took  the  place  of  the 
crystallised  skies  of  winter,  and  for  the  barren  bril- 
liant light  of  the  January  sun  was  exchanged  a  fruit- 
ful and  caressing  luminousness  that  flooded  the 
world  instead  of  merely  looking  down  upon  it.  Soon 
from  the  lower  slopes  the  snow  was  quite  vanished, 
and  instead  of  the  tinkle  of  sleigh-bells  there  came 
from  the  pasture  the  deeper  note  from  the  bells  of 
feeding  cattle,  who  all  winter  long  had  been  penned 
up  in  chalets,  eating  the  dry  cakes  of  last  year's 
harvest  of  grass. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  113 

Archie  had  been  lymg  in  his  balcony  one  morn- 
ing writing  an  account  of  these  things  to  Miss 
Bainpton.  His  mother  had  gone  back  to  England 
to  take  Jeannie  home,  but  would  be  back  at  the  end 
of  the  week,  and  in  the  absence  of  an  instructor 
Archie's  task  was  to  write  a  long  letter  daily  to 
somebody  at  home.  This  he  enjoyed  doing,  for  the 
search  for  words  in  which  to  express  himself  had 
begun  to  interest  him,  and  he  had  just  written  "If 
you  listen  very  hard,  you  can  almost  hear  the  grass 
and  the  flowers  fizzing.  Is  it  the  sap?  It's  like 
fizzing,  anyhow.    That's  what  I  mean." 

As  he  paused  at  the  end  of  his  third  page,  he 
felt  something  in  his  hand  that  also  reminded  him 
of  fizzing.  There  was  that  queer  thrill  and  twitch- 
ing in  his  fingers,  which  he  recognised  at  once,  and 
words,  not  searched  for  by  him,  but  coming  from 
some  other  source,  began  to  trace  themselves  on  the 
blank  fourth  page.  To-day  there  were  no  prelimi- 
nary scrawls;  the  firm,  upright  handwriting  was  co- 
herent from  the  first. 

"Archie,  I've  got  through  again,"  it  wrote.  "Isn't 
it  fun?  If  you  want  a  test"  ("Test?"  thought  Archie, 
"what's  that?")  "you'll  find  a  circle  cut  on  the  bark 
of  the  pine  opposite  the  front-door.  Dig  in  the 
earth  just  below  it.  There's  a  box  and  some  things 
in  it.    I  hid  them." 

A  wave  of  conscious  excitement  came  over  the 
boy,  and  instantly  his  hand  stopped  writing. 

"Oh,  bother;  it's  stopped,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I 
wish  I  hadn't  interrupted  it." 

But  he  had  interrupted  it,  and  since  he  could  not 
get  back  into  that  particular  quiescence,  which  he 
had  begun  to  see  always  accompanied  these  mani- 
festations, he  could  at  least  do  what  the  writing 


114  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

suggested,  and  slipping  off  his  couch,  he  tip-toed 
downstairs  in  order  not  to  let  Blessington  hear  his 
exit. 

There  were  two  pine-trees,  either  of  which  might 
have  been  described  as  opposite  the  front-door,  and 
he  searched  in  vain  round  the  first  of  these  for  any 
sign  of  the  circle  cut  on  the  bark.  Then  coming 
to  the  other,  he  at  once  saw,  with  a  sudden  beating 
of  his  heart,  a  rough  circle  cut  in  the  bark  just  op- 
posite his  eyes.  A  grey  ring  of  lichen  had  grown 
into  it,  making  it  so  conspicuous  that  he  wondered 
he  had  never  noticed  it  before.  Next  moment  he 
was  down  on  his  knees,  grubbing  up  the  loose  earth 
directly  below  it,  with  the  eager,  absolute  certainty 
of  success.  The  earth  came  away  very  easily,  and 
his  hole  was  not  yet  a  foot  deep,  when  he  saw 
something  shining  gleam  at  the  bottom  of  it,  and 
presently  he  drew  out  a  small  round  tin  box,  like 
that  which  stood  on  the  table  in  his  father's  study 
and  held  tobacco.  He  hastily  filled  the  earth  into 
his  excavation  again,  and  undetected  tip-toed  back 
to  his  balcony. 

For  a  while  the  lid  resisted  his  efforts  to  open  it, 
but  soon  he  got  it  loose  and  looked  inside.  On  the 
top  lay  a  folded  piece  of  paper;  below  there  was  a 
stick  of  chocolate  in  lead  paper,  a  pencil,  a  match- 
box and  a  photograph  of  a  boy  about  nine  years  old 
whom  Archie  instantly  knew  to  be  like  himself. 
Then  he  opened  the  piece  of  folded  paper,  and  saw 
written  on  it  in  a  hand  he  knew  quite  well,  though 
somehow  it  lacked  the  maturity  of  other  words  he 
had  seen  written  by  it. 

"This  is  Martin  Morris's,"  it  said.  "And  belongs 
to  him  alone." 

Archie  read  this,  looked  at  the  photograph  again, 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  115 

and  a  flood  of  light  poured  in  on  his  mind.  It  was 
no  wonder  that  he  had  felt  that  Martin  was  friendly 
and  affectionate,  that  ]\Iartin  wanted  to  talk  to  him, 
that  Martin  told  him  of  the  cache  he  had  made, 
for  to  whom  should  he  tell  it  but  to  his  brother? 

Yes:  Martin  was  here,  for  Martin  had  written  to 
him,  had  called  him  .  .  .  And  then  in  a  moment 
more  light  flashed  on  him.  Certainly  Martin  was 
alive,  but  he  was  not  alive  in  the  sense  that  his 
mother  was  alive  or  Blessington.  In  that  sense 
Martin  was  dead.  There  was  nothing  in  the  least 
shocking  or  terrifying  in  the  discovery  and  it  burst 
upon  him  as  the  sense  of  spring  had  done.  It  was 
just  a  natural  thing,  wonderfully  beautiful,  to  find 
out  for  certain,  as  he  felt  he  had  found  out,  that 
there  was  close  to  him,  always  perhaps,  and  cer- 
tainly at  times,  this  presence  of  the  brother  whom 
he  had  never  seen,  but  who  in  some  way  not  more 
inexplicable  than  the  appearance  of  the  blue  gen- 
tians pricking  up  through  the  snow,  could  occasion- 
ally speak  to  him,  calling  him  by  name,  or  using  his 
hand  to  write  with. 

A  few  days  afterwards  Lady  Davidstow  arrived 
back  from  England,  and  on  the  first  evening  of  her 
return,  after  dusk  had  fallen,  Archie  was  sitting  on 
the  floor  against  her  knee  in  front  of  the  one  open 
fire-place  in  the  house,  where  pine-logs  fizzed  and 
smouldered  and  burst  into  flame  and  glowed  into 
a  core  of  heat.  Sometimes,  for  that  pleasant  hour 
before  bed-time,  she  read  to  him,  but  to-night  there 
had  been  no  reading,  for  she  had  been  telling  him 
of  the  week  she  had  passed  at  home.*  They  had 
moved  up  to  London  while  she  was  there,  and  Lon- 
don was  miry  and  foggy  and  cold. 


116         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"Altogether  disgusting,  dear/'  she  said.  'TTou 
don't  want  to  go  there,  do  you?" 

"Not  an  atom,"  said  Archie  firmly.  "I  like  this 
place  better  than  any  I  have  ever  been  in." 

"I'm  glad,  dear.  I  was  afraid  you  would  dislike 
it  after  the  frost  went." 

Archie  was  staring  dreamily  at  the  fire,  and  sud- 
denly he  knew  that  Martin  was  here,  and  he  looked 
quickly  round  wondering  if  by  any  new  and  lovely 
miracle  he  should  see  the  boy  whose  face  was  now 
familiar  to  him  from  the  photograph.  But  there 
was  nothing  visible,  beyond  the  firelight  leaping  on 
the  wooden  walls. 

"What  is  it,  Archie?"  asked  his  mother. 

Suddenly  Archie  felt  that  he  could  preserve  his 
secret  no  longer.  As  on  the  day  in  church  when  he 
wanted  his  mother  to  share  with  him  the  pleasure 
of  that  glorious  comedian,  the  man  with  the  wag- 
ging beard,  so  nov/  he  wanted  her  to  share  with  him 
the  secret  joy  of  JMartin's  presence. 

"Mummie,  I  want  to  tell  you  about  Martin,"  he 
said.  "You  know  whom  I  mean:  Martin,  my 
brother." 

"Archie,  who  has  been  telling  you  about  Martin?" 
she  asked. 

Archie  laughed. 

"Why,  Martin,  of  course.  Mummie,  it's  too  love- 
ly. Once  he  called  me  out  loud,  and  he  writes  for 
me.  He's  written  for  me  three  times,  once  at  home 
and  twice  here.  I  knew  he  was  particularly  here, 
the  moment  we  got  here.  And  last  time  he  told 
me  about  what  he  had  hidden  under  the  pine-tree, 
and  I  found  it.  Don't  you  want  to  see  it?  I  hid 
it  away  in  the  paper  in  my  portmanteau.  Oh,  and 
what  is  a  test?    He  said  it  was  a  test." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  117 

"A  test?    A  test  is  a  proof." 

Archie  laughed  again. 

"That  makes  sense,"  he  said.  "Now,  shall  I  show 
you  the  test?  I  kept  it  all  together  with  what  he 
wrote  to  me  about  it  first." 

He  came  back  in  a  moment  with  his  precious  pos- 
session. 

"Look,  that's  what  he  wrote  on  the  paper  of  my 
letter  to  Miss  Bampton,"  he  said.  "He  said  there 
was  a  circle  cut  on  the  pine-tree,  and  I  found  it,  and 
I  dug  as  he  told  me,  and  found  this.  Look!  Isn't 
it  lovely,  and  that's  Martin's  photograph,  isn't  it?" 

It  was  impossible  to  question  the  validity  of  this 
evidence,  and,  indeed.  Lady  Davidstow  had  no  de- 
sire to  do  so.  For  herself  she  believed  implicitly  in 
the  fact  of  life  everlasting,  without  which  the  whole 
creation  of  God,  with  its  pains  and  its  agonies  and 
its  yearning  and  its  love,  becomes  the  cruellest  of 
all  sorry  jests  concocted  by  the  omnipotent  power 
of  a  mind  infinitely  brutal  and  cynical,  who  tor- 
tures the  puppets  he  has  created  with  unutterable 
anguish,  or  ravishes  their  souls  with  a  joy  as  mean- 
ingless as  dreams.  Well  she  remembered  Martin's 
cutting  the  circle  on  the  pine-tree,  but  what  its  sig- 
nificance was  he  had  never  told  her.  But  now,  five 
years  after  his  death,  he  had  told  it,  she  could  not 
doubt,  to  the  brother  who  had  no  normal  remem- 
brance of  him.  There  they  were,  the  little  pathetic 
tokens  of  his  childish  secrecy,  a  pencil,  a  piece  of 
chocolate,  a  photograph,  and  above  all  the  well- 
formed  upright  handwriting  identical  with  that  of 
the  message  traced  on  the  last  page  of  Archie's  un- 
sent  letter.  How  it  happened,  what  was  the  strange 
mechanism  that  fashioned  by  material  means  this 
mysterious  communication  between  the  living  and 


118  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

the  dead,  she  had  no  idea,  but  of  its  having  hap- 
pened she  had  no  doubt. 

She  turned  these  relics  over,  she  kissed  the  hand- 
writing so  long  buried,  and  tears  of  tender  amaze- 
ment rose  in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  Archie,  my  darling,"  she  said.  "You  lucky 
boy!" 

"Aren't  I?"  said  Archie.  "But  does  Martin  never 
write  to  you?" 

"No,  dear;  I  suppose  he  cannot." 

"And  why  is  he  so  particularly  here?"  demanded 
Archie. 

She  paused  a  moment. 

"He  died  here,"  she  said. 

"In  this  house?"  asked  he.    "Which  room?" 

"Blessington's." 

Archie  gave  a  great  sigh. 

"Oh,  Mummie,  do  let  me  have  that  room,  instead 
of  mine!"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  V 

Archie  was  precariously  perched  on  the  side  of  his 
little  Una-rigged,  red-sailed  boat,  looking  with  danc- 
ing blue  eyes  at  the  rocky  coast  all  smothered  in 
billows  and  sunlit  spray  some  quarter  of  a  mile 
ahead,  and  wondering  if  he  would  be  able  to  make 
the  harbour  of  Silorno  on  this  tack.  He  wondered 
also  what  was  the  best  thing  to  do  if  he  could  not. 
There  seemed  to  be  two  alternatives,  the  one  to 
beat  out  to  sea  again  and  come  in  on  another  tack, 
the  other  to  run  before  the  wind  to  the  head  of  the 
bay,  away  to  the  right,  where  he  knew  there  was 
a  sandy  beach,  tumble  himself  out  as  best  he  might, 
and,  he  was  afraid,  see  his  beloved  Amphitrite  be- 
ing pounded  to  bits  by  the  rollers;  for  with  all  his 
optimism,  he  could  not  picture  himself  hauling  her 
up  out  of  harm's  way.  But  even  this  seemed  pref- 
erable to  the  other  alternative,  for  to  beat  out 
again  in  such  a  sea  seemed  really  a  challenge  to 
the  elements  to  swamp  him,  in  which  case  he  was 
like  to  lose  the  Amphitrite  and  his  own  life  as  well. 
The  wind  was  blowing  with  all  the  violence  of  a 
summer  Italian  gale  straight  down  the  bay  from  the 
open  sea.  A  high  wall  of  rock  against  which  the 
breakers  smashed  themselves  and  would  smash  any- 
thing else  that  rode  them  was  in  front  of  him :  then 
came  the  narrow  opening  into  Silorno  harbour  for 
which  he  was  making,  after  which  the  rocks,  on  the 
top  of  which  ran  the  road  to  Santa  Margharita  con- 

119 


120  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

tinued  right  up  to  the  head  of  the  bay.  It  had  been 
rough  when  he  started  to  sail  there,  in  order  to  get 
some  cigarettes,  which  now  were  stowed  away  in 
his  coat  which  he  had  wrapped  round  them  and 
placed  where  it  would  receive  as  small  a  share  as 
possible  of  the  spray  that  from  time  to  time  fell 
in  a  solid  sheet  into  the  boat.  That  seemed  al- 
most the  most  important  thing  of  all,  to  keep  the 
cigarettes  dry,  for  it  would  be  too  futile  to  have 
taken  all  this  trouble  and  so  gi'eatly  have  ven- 
tured himself  and  his  Amphitrite  if  at  the  end  the 
cigarettes  should  prove  to  be  a  mash  of  tobacco  and 
salt  water,  for  they  were  only  in  a  cardboard  box. 
And  next  in  importance  came  the  need  of  demon- 
strating to  his  mother  and  Harry  and  Helena  and 
Jessie  that  he  had  been  perfectly  wise  and  prudent 
in  sailing  across  to  Santa  Margharita  in  spite  of 
their  land-lubber  fears,  in  a  freshening  gale  and  a 
lumpy  sea,  in  order  to  get  these  Egyptian  cigarettes 
instead  of  the  despised  Italian  brand.  The  action, 
anyhow,  so  far  as  cigarettes  went,  was  entirely  al- 
truistic on  Archie's  part,  for  he  never  smoked  him- 
self. He  made  no  doubt  that  the  whole  party  of 
them  were  at  this  moment  watching  him  through 
glasses  from  the  terraced  garden  of  the  Castello 
that  sat  perched  at  the  top  of  the  steep  olive- 
clothed  hill  in  front  of  him,  and  he  spared  a  sec- 
ond to  wave  a  hand  in  their  direction  in  case  they 
were  there.  But  he  did  it  in  a  rather  hurried  man- 
ner, for  he  wanted  that  hand  to  be  ready  to  loosen 
the  sheet  in  case  any  more  wind  was  on  its  way  to 
him,  and  the  other  hand  must  retain  its  hold  on 
the  tiller. 

Archie  was  clad  in  a  jersey  stained  and  whitened 
with  salt-water,  and  the  rest  of  his  attire  consisted 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  121 

of  grey  flannel  trousers.  His  coat  was  defending 
to  its  last  dry  stitch  the  trophy  of  cigarettes;  his 
shoes  he  had  put  under  his  coat,  for  it  was  just  as 
well  to  keep  them  dry,  while  if  by  any  chance  he 
had  to  swim,  they  would  be  of  no  use  to  him  either 
dry  or  wet.  The  sleeve  of  his  jersey  rolled  up  nearly 
to  his  shoulder,  disclosed  slim,  strong  arms,  incred- 
ibly browned  with  a  month  of  sea-bathing,  and 
his  sockless  feet  were  of  the  same  fine  tan  of  con- 
stant exposure.  His  hair,  thick,  and  dripping  from 
the  spray,  had  for  the  present  lost  its  tawny  curli- 
ness,  and  he  had  to  throw  back  his  head  from  time/ 
to  time,  in  order  to  keep  it  out  of  his  eyes.  And 
in  his  mind  there  was  the  same  wildness  of  out-of- 
doors  rapture  that  characterised  the  youth  of  his 
supple  body:  he  could  have  laughed  with  pleasure 
at  the  mere  fact  of  this  doubtful  battle  between 
himself  and  the  wind-maddened  sea.  But  all  the 
time  in  some  secret  chamber  of  his  brain  there  sat, 
so  to  speak,  a  steadfast  and  keen  observer,  who  was 
making  notes  with  all  his  might,  and  pushing  them 
down  into  the  cool  caves  of  memory,  to  be  brought 
forth  (in  case  Archie  came  safely  to  land)  from  their 
cold  storage,  and  fitted  with  words  which  should 
reproduce  the  exultation  of  wind  and  sun  and  sea. 
And  in  a  chamber  more  secret  yet,  a  chamber  not  in 
the  brain  but  in  his  heart,  sat  the  knowledge  that  his 
second  cousin  Helena  Vautier  was  surely  looking  at 
him  from  the  terraced  garden  high  above  the  cliff. 
She  should  see  (and  for  that  matter  so  should  her 
sister  Jessie)  how  to  handle  a  boat.  She  had  been 
strong  in  her  dissuasion  of  his  starting  a^t  all,  and 
that,  if  Archie  was  quite  honest  with  himself,  was 
one  of  the  principal  reasons  why  he  had  insisted  on 
doing  so.     She  had  mentioned  casually  the  other 


122  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

day  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  she  liked 
better  than  the  careless  "go-to-the-deuce"  attitude 
which  to  her  represented  manliness,  and  Archie  had 
been  only  too  delighted  to  give  her  this  vigorous 
specimen  of  it.  But  it  tremendously  pleased  him 
that  on  his  announcement  of  his  intention  to  go 
across  the  bay,  she  should  have  so  strenuously  dis- 
suaded him.  To  his  mind  that  convej^'ed  the  im- 
pression that  she  liked  him  as  much  as  she  liked  ex- 
hibitions of  manliness. 

He  was  already  opposite  the  opening  into  the 
harbour  and  still  several  hundred  yards  distant,  and 
for  the  time  all  the  attention  of  the  observer  who 
was  going  to  put  this  some  day  into  words,  and  of 
the  other  observer  who  knew  that  Helena  was 
watching  him,  was  diverted  to  the  job  that  engaged 
his  more  superficial  self.  But  that  part  of  him,  in- 
tent and  eager  though  it  was  on  the  hazard  that  lay 
before  it,  sang  and  shouted  with  glee  at  the  fact  that 
he  was  alone  out  here  on  the  sea.  But  this  very  sane 
and  healthy  personage,  Archie  Morris,  might  almost 
be  described  as  an  aqua-maniac,  so  intense  was  his 
passion  for  that  gladdest  and  most  glorious  creature 
of  God.  He  did  not  want  to  be  a  sailor,  for  a  sailor 
inhabited  an  impregnable  fort  which,  though  sur- 
rounded by  sea,  was  still  impenetrably  removed 
from  it,  and  defied  it  by  means  of  colossal  cylinders 
and  pounding  pistons  and  steel  sides.  Best  of  all 
was  to  be  in  the  sea,  swimming,  but  not  far  removed 
from  that  was  to  coax  and  wheedle  the  sea  through 
the  medium  of  a  big  sail  and  a  tiny  boat:  being  alone 
with  the  sea,  as  with  all  lovers,  was  necessary  to  the 
full  realisation  of  passion.  A  river  was  a  fair  substi- 
tute for  the  sea,  or  a  lake:  but  there  had  to  be  a 
quantity  of  water.    He  loved  to  dive,  and  open  his 


ACROSS  THE  STREA^I  123 

eyes  under  water,  so  as  to  see  the  sun  shining 
through  it.  That  was  a  very  early  passion,  dating 
from  the  time  when  he  had  stepped  out  of  a  boat 
in  his  anxiety  about  a  pike  that  was  on  the  end  of 
his  line.  .  .  . 

Then  for  a  moment  all  other  considerations  were 
subordinated  to  keen  physical  activity.  The  wind 
was  sweeping  him  across  the  mouth  of  the  harbour, 
and  he  had  either  to  put  about  at  once  to  avoid 
being  taken  onto  the  rocks  at  its  northern  end,  or, 
risking  being  swamped,  put  his  helm  even  harder 
a-port,  and  tighten  his  sheet.  With  his  habit  of 
swift  decision,  he  determined  to  go  for  it,  and  throw- 
ing his  leg  across  the  tiller,  he  pulled  on  his  sheet 
with  both  hands.  The  sprays  from  the  waves  that 
thundered  on  the  rock  fell  solid  and  drenched  him, 
but  next  moment  he  skimmed  by  it,  into  the 
broadening  harbour,  and  half  a  minute  afterwards 
the  rock  on  which  the  Castello  stood  came  between 
him  and  the  wind,  his  sail  flapped  idly,  and  in  dead 
calm,  he  picked  up  his  sculls  to  row  the.Amphitrite 
to  her  anchorage.  But  before  he  took  them  up,  he 
laughed  aloud. 

"Gosh,  what  sport!"  he  said. 

The  anchorage  of  the  Amphitrite  lay  in  a  bay  not 
far  from  the  entrance  to  the  harbour,  screened  by 
the  steep-climbing  olive  groves  belonging  to  this 
Castello  of  Silorno,  which  Archie's  mother  had  taken 
for  the  divine  Italian  months  of  May  and  June: 
Silorno  itself,  that  incredibly  picturesque  huddle  of 
pink  and  yellow  walls,  of  campaniles,  and  lacemakers 
who,  with  bright-coloured  kerchiefs  over  their  come- 
ly heads,  plied  their  wooden  bobbins  all  day  in  the 
shade  of  its  narrow  streets,  rose,  roof  over  roof,  at 


124  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

the  head  of  the  harbour.  A  big  cobbled  piazza 
sloped  to  the  quay  wall  where  sailors  chatted  and 
dozed  in  and  out  of  the  cafes  all  day,  putting  to 
sea  for  their  night-fishing  by  the  light  of  flares 
about  the  time  of  sunset.  The  village  was  impene- 
trable to  wheeled  trafiic,  for  the  road  along  the  bay 
came  to  an  end  at  its  outskirts,  and  thereafter  be- 
came a  narrow  cobbled  track,  built  in  steps  where 
the  steepness  of  its  streets  demanded.  Round  the 
town  rose  an  amphitheatre  of  hills  broken  only  by 
the  low  saddle,  where  the  final  promontory  on  which 
the  Castello  stood  swam  out  seawards  in  three  wood- 
ed humps  of  hills.  And  sitting  here  you  could  ob- 
serve on  days  like  these  the  huge  breakers  crashing 
on  the  reefs  to  the  right  where  the  seas  rolled  in 
from  the  open  Mediterranean,  while  the  land-locked 
harbour  into  which  Archie  had  just  brought  his  boat 
lay  smooth  as  a  mirror  at  your  feet  towards  the  left. 
Straight  in  front  ran  the  ascending  path  that  passed 
below  the  Castello  and  on  to  the  head  of  the  pro- 
montory, where  enlightened  Italian  enterprise  was 
building  an  execrable  and  totally  useless  lighthouse 
to  supplant  the  little  Madonna  chapel  that  had 
stood  there  for  centuries. 

Archie  took  down  his  sail,  anchored  the  Amphi- 
trite,  and  punted  himself  across  in  a  small  boat  to 
the  landing-stage  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  the 
Castello  stood.  Here  the  trees  stood  untroubled  by 
the  gale  that  poured  high  over  them  from  the  south, 
though  on  the  other  side  of  the  harbour  the  wind 
roared  in  the  olives  and  turned  their  green  to  the 
grey  of  the  underleaf,  and  the  great  surges  beat  and 
burst  on  the  rocks  he  had  narrowly  avoided.  But 
here  that  tumultuous  stir  was  unfelt  and  the  resin- 
ous smell  of  pines  and  the  clear  odours  of  the  euca- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  125 

Ij-ptus  trees  hung  in  the  warm  and  sheltered  air. 
Out  of  that  denser  shade  he  passed  into  the  belt  of 
olives  that  grew  higher  on  the  slope,  mixed  with 
angled  and  contorted  fig-trees,  where  the  fruit  was 
already  beginning  to  swell  and  ripen.  Above  rose 
the  great  grey  bastion  of  the  retaining  fortress  wall, 
tufted  with  stone-crop  and  valerian  that  was  rooted 
in  the  crevices,  and  above  that  again  rose  the  um- 
brella of  the  stone-pine  that  grew  at  the  corner  of 
the  garden.  The  path  he  followed  wound  round  the 
base  of  this  wall  and  passed  below  its  easterly  side 
where  he  came  into  the  blast  of  the  warm  South 
wind  again  that  swept  along  the  face  of  the  Castello, 
and  made  the  cypresses  bend  and  buckle  like  fishing- 
rods  which  feel  the  jerk  and  pull  of  some  hooked 
giant  of  the  waters.  The  hill-side  here  plunged  very 
precipitously  downwards  to  the  bay  three  hundred 
feet  below,  wrinkled  with  waves  and  feathered  with 
foam,  and  lover  of  the  sea  though  he  was  he  felt 
content  to  observe  that  tumult  of  windy  water.  Not 
a  sail  was  visible  right  across  to  the  further  shore 
of  the  gulf,  and  to-night  there  would  be  no  illumi- 
nation of  the  fishing-boats  that  in  calm  weather  rode 
twinkling  and  populous  as  a  town  out  there.  But 
he  stood  looking  at  the  sea  a  moment  before  he 
turned  into  the  narrow  stone  passage  that  led  to  the 
gate  of  the  house,  as  a  man  may  look  with  love  on 
his  horse  that,  unruly  and  obstreperous,  has  yet  car- 
ried him  gallantly. 

A  girl  came  up  the  cobbled  way  from  the  town 
just  as  he  turned  in.  She  had  on  a  very  simple  linen 
dress  that  the  wind  blew  close  to  her  body,  and  a 
flapping  linen  sun-bonnet,  tied  below  her  chin,  to 
prevent  the  wind  capturing  it.  She  was  tall  and 
slight,  moved  easily,  as  with  a  boyish  carelessness, 


126  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

and  a  very  pleasant  face,  also  boyish  and  quite  plain, 
peered  from  under  her  flapping  bonnet.  Her  hands 
were  noticeable,  they  were  large  but  extremely  well- 
shaped,  and  the  fingers  showed  both  perception  and 
efficiency.  It  may  be  remarked  that  Archie  had 
never  noticed  her  hands  at  all. 

"Hullo,  Jess,"  said  he.  "I'm  just  back.  Lord,  I've 
had  such  a  ripping  afternoon.  And  the  cigarettes 
are  quite  dry.    Where  have  you  been?" 

"Just  down  into  Silorno.  Cousin  Marion  wanted 
a  telegram  sent  about  their  sleeping-berths  to- 
morrow." 

Archie  frowned.  He  had  noticed  that  Jessie  was 
often  sent  on  errands.  People  who  can  absolutely 
be  relied  on  usually  are. 

"I  should  have  thought  my  mother  might  have 
sent  Pasqualino,"  he  observed. 

The  girl  laughed. 

"Oh,  she  wanted  to,  but  I  said  I  would  go  instead. 
You  see  Cousin  Marion  and  Helena  were  getting 
in  what  might  be  called  rather  a  state  about  you. 
I  tried  to  infect  them  with  my  own  calm,  but  they 
wouldn't  catch  it.  So  I  thought  a  little  walk  would 
be  pleasant." 

"Oh,  was  Helena  frightened?"  asked  Archie  rather 
greedily. 

"Yes.    So  was  Cousin  Marion.    I  wasn't." 

"Then  you  were  beastly  unsympathetic.  I  had 
an  awful  shave  getting  into  the  harbour,"  remarked 
Archie. 

"But  you  knew  what  you  were  about,  and  I  didn't, 
nor  did  Helena.  So  I  preferred  to  have  confidence 
in  you  and  go  for  a  walk,  rather  than  observe  you  in 
what  looked  remarkably  like  danger." 

Archie  had  walked  up  from  the  landing-stage  with 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  127 

his  shoes  and  his  coat  under  his  arm.  The  coat  was 
too  wet  to  put  on,  so  he  dusted  his  feet  with  it,  and 
resumed  his  shoes. 

"Oh,  a  ripping  afternoon,"  he  said  again. 

The  sound  of  the  clanging  gate  into  the  Castello 
was  heard  out  in  the  garden,  and  as  they  walked 
up  the  dim  stone-flagged  passage  that  led  out  into 
it,  another  girl  came  running  in.  She,  like  her  sister, 
was  tall  and  slight,  but  there  the  resemblance  al- 
together ended.  A  delicate,  small-featured  face,  en- 
tirely feminine,  gleamed  below  yellow  hair;  her  eyes 
set  rather  wide  apart,  giving  her  an  adorably  child- 
ish look,  opened  very  widely  below  their  dark  eye- 
lashes. Beside  her,  Jessie  looked  somewhat  like  a 
well-bred  plough-boy. 

"Oh,  Archie!"  she  cried.  "How  horribly  rash  of 
you.  Cousin  Marion  and  I  have  had  a  terrible  half- 
hour." 

"I  bring  you  cigarettes  to  soothe  your  disordered 
nerves,"  said  Archie  sententiously.  "I  am  happy  to 
say  that  they  are  dry,  though  I  am  not." 

Jessie  had  walked  on,  with  that  pleasant  expres- 
sion on  her  face  that  might  or  might  not  be  a  smile, 
and  the  two  were  left  alone  for  a  moment. 

"As  if  I  cared  about  the  cigarettes,"  she  said. 

"You  did  this  morning.  But  you  weren't  really 
anxious,  were  you?" 

"Indeed  I  was.  You  were  naughty  to  sail  back. 
Do  be  good  now  and  go  and  change  at  once.  I  will 
bring  you  some  fresh  tea  into  the  garden.  Cousin 
Marion  and  I  have  had  tea.  We  drank  cup  after 
cup  to  fortify  ourselves,  and  looked  over  the  wall  at 
your  boat  between  each  sip.  Then  we  trembled  and 
had  another  sip.    Before  you  got  past  that  horrid 


128         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

rock,  we  had  drained  the  teapot  and  broken  our 
chairs  with  our  trembling." 

The  strict  veracity  of  this  entertaining  summary 
did  not  of  course  concern  Archie;  it  was  sufficient 
that  it  had  Helena's  light  and  picturesque  touch. 
It  made  a  tableau  that  caused  him  to  smile  to  him- 
self as  he  changed  his  shirt  that  was  now  stiffening 
with  salt,  and  put  on  a  pair  of  socks  over  his  tanned 
feet.  All  this  he  did  hurriedly,  for  it  was  the  last 
evening,  so  he  told  himself,  that  they  would  all  be 
together,  by  which  he  really  meant  that  it  was  the 
last  evening  on  which  Helena  would  be  here,  since 
to-morrow,  at  break  of  dawn,  she  and  his  mother 
would  start  for  England,  leaving  Jessie,  Harry  and 
himself  to  follow  after  another  fortnight.  When,  a 
week  before,  that  scheme  had  been  suggested,  it 
seemed  to  Archie  the  most  admirable  of  plans,  since, 
though  his  mother  and  Helena  would  be  gone,  he 
would  secure  another  fortnight  of  intercourse  with 
his  beloved  sea  instead  of  inhabiting  that  smoky 
cave  known  as  London.  But  since  then  Helena  had 
begun  to  dawn  on  him,  though  as  yet  it  would  be  an 
exaggeration  to  say  that  he  was  in  love  with  her. 
But  she  was  dawning,  her  light  illuminated  the  sky 
above  the  horizon,  and  if  the  plan  was  to  be  sug- 
gested again  to  him  in  his  present  attitude  of  at- 
tracted expectancy,  it  is  probable  that  he  would  have 
voted  for  London  and  Helena,  rather  than  an  ex- 
tension of  his  days  at  the  Castello. 

The  scheme  had  originally  been  Helena's,  and  like 
all  her  plans  had  been  exceedingly  well  thought  out, 
before  it  was  produced  in  the  guise  of  an  impulse, 
prompted  by  kindliness  and  thought  for  others.  It 
was,  when  edited  as  an  impulse,  of  the  simplest 
and  most  considerate  sort.    The  hot  weather  did  not 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  129 

really  suit  Cousin  Marion,  so  why  should  not  Cousin 
Marion  go  back  to  England  with  herself,  Helena, 
as  travelling-companion?  Of  course  Silorno  was  the 
most  delicious  place,  and  she  would  be  ever  so  sorry 
to  go,  but  certainly  Cousin  Marion  felt  the  heat  and 
though  she  was  far  too  unselfish  to  suggest  breaking 
up  the  party  would  be  glad  to  go  northwards  earlier 
than  the  end  of  June,  when  her  two  months'  tenancy 
expired. 

Helena  had  produced  this  plan  to  Archie  one 
morning  as  they  sat  after  breakfast  under  the  stone- 
pine. 

''But  my  mother  would  not  in  the  least  mind 
going  home  alone,  if  she  preferred  to  go  before  the 
end  of  June,"  he  said. 

Helena  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  I  know  she  would  say  she  didn't  mind,"  she 
said,  "or  she  would  stop  on  in  spite  of  her  headaches 
sooner  than  break  up  the  party " 

"Has  she  been  having  headaches?"  asked  Archie. 

"Yes,  but  you  mustn't  know  that.  She  told  me 
not  to  tell  any  one,"  said  Helena,  with  complete  self- 
possession.     "Promise,  Archie." 

"AU  right." 

Helena  felt  quite  safe  now. 

"So  she  must  go  back  sooner  than  the  end  of 
June,"  she  continued,  "and  clearly  I  am  the  right 
person  to  go  with  her,  for  she  hates  travelling  alone." 

"Oh,  we'll  all  go  then,"  said  Archie. 

"It  isn't  the  least  necessary.  Jessie  or  I  must  go 
with  her,  for  she  certainly  wouldn't  hear  of  your 
going,  and  Jessie  is  enjoying  this  so  much  that  I 
couldn't  bear  that  she  should  have  her  days  here  cut 
short.    So  it's  for  me  to  go." 


130  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"That's  awfully  good  of  you,"  said  he,  only  as  yet 
half-convinced. 

"It  isn't  the  least.  It's  a  necessity,  though  you  are 
so  kind  as  to  make  a  virtue  of  it.  And  then  there's 
this  as  well.  Cousin  Marion  would  never  consent 
to  go,  if  she  thought  it  was  for  her  sake  that  I  was 
going  with  her.  So  you  must  go  to  her  and  say 
you  think  that  it's  me  whom  the  heat  doesn't  suit, 
and  you  will  see  if  she  doesn't  say  at  once  that  she 
will  go  back  with  me.  And  the  real  reason  for  her 
going  will  be  our  secret,  just  yours  and  mine." 

Archie  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and 
the  silence  was  one  of  unspoken  admiration.  Some- 
how this  kindly,  thoughtful  plan  kindled  his  appre^ 
ciation  of  her  beauty ;  her  beauty  took  on  a  tenderer 
and  more  touching  look.  Before  now  it  had  vaguely 
occurred  to  him  that  of  the  two  sisters  it  was  Jessie 
who  most  gave  up  her  own  way  to  serve  the  ways 
of  others,  but  this  secret  of  Helena's  made  him  feel 
that  he  had  done  her  an  injustice. 

"But  I  don't  want  you  to  give  up  your  time  here 
if  you  enjoy  it,"  he  said. 

"Ah,  don't  make  me  tell  a  fib,  and  say  that  I  don't 
enjoy  it,"  she  said.  "I  will  if  you  press  me.  I'll  say 
it  bores  me  frightfully,  sooner  than  give  up  my 
plan." 

"Well,  I  think  it's  wonderfully  kind  of  you,"  he 
said.  "Now  I'm  to  tell  my  mother  that  you  are 
feehng  the  heat,  and  see  what  she  says.    Is  that  it?" 

"Yes,  just  that,"  said  Helena. 

Archie  had  strolled  indoors  to  put  this  plan  to  the 
test,  and  before  he  returned  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
later  with  his  mother  Helena  had  approved  of  her 
own  ingenuity  very  warmly.  She  had,  if  her  scheme 
succeeded,  secured  for  herself  an  additional  fortnight 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  131 

of  the  London  season,  for  she  and  Jessie  were,  for 
the  present,  going  to  make  their  home  with  their 
cousins,  and  she  was  already  satisfied  that  her  un- 
selfishness had  made  a  considerable  impression  on 
Archie,  This  was  the  most  important  thing:  hither- 
to she  felt  she  had  failed  to  make  her  mark,  so  to 
speak.  He  was  on  excellent  friendly  terms  with 
her,  just  as  he  was  with  Jessie,  but  she  wanted  (or 
at  any  rate  wished  for)  something  more  than  that. 
It  was  not  that  she  wanted  him  to  flirt  with  her; 
she  had  much  more  serious  ends  in  view.  She  wanted 
(and  here  was  her  perspicacity)  to  dazzle  his  eyes 
by  means  of  touching  his  heart,  for  she  guessed  with 
clear-sighted  vision  that  he  was  the  kind  of  young 
man  who,  if  he  did  not  mean  everything,  would 
mean  nothing,  and  she  believed  that  she  could  not 
entangle  his  affection  by  mere  superficial  appeals. 
And,  indeed,  she  was  not  a  flirt  herself;  she  was 
poor  and  clever  and  attractive,  and  she  proposed 
to  use  her  cleverness  and  attraction  in  the  legiti- 
mate pursuit  of  securing  a  husband  who  was  not 
'poor.  That  Archie  was  Lord  Davidstow,  and  at  his 
father's  death  would  be  Lord  Tintagel,  was  in  his 
favour,  and  to  make  an  impression  on  him,  and  then 
to  go  self-sacrificingly  away,  seemed  to  her  a  very 
promising  manoeuvre.  She  was  not  in  the  least 
afraid  of  leaving  Jessie  with  him,  for  with  her  hab- 
itual adroitness  she  had  conveyed  to  her  by  little 
sighs,  glances,  and  words  that  seemed  to  escape 
from  her  lips  unawares,  what  her  design  (yet  with- 
out making  it  appear  a  design)  on  Archie  was.  She 
had  but  allowed  her  feelings,  all  unconsciously,  to 
betray  themselves,  as  when  she  said,-  "Darling, 
wouldn't  it  be  lovely  to  be  Archie's  sister,  instead  of 
^only  cousin?"    That  put  it  quite  plainly  enough,  and 


132  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

she  felt  sure  that  Jessie  understood.  And  in  addition 
to  this  impregnable  safeguard  of  Jessie's  loyalty  she 
was  satisfied  that  her  friendliness  with  Archie  was 
of  the  most  unsentimental  character.  Indeed  to 
speak  of  her  sense  of  security  with  regard  to  Jessie 
would  be  a  labouring  of  the  point:  she  was  so  secure 
that  her  security  scarcely  struck  her,  any  more  than 
the  security  of  a  house  consciously  strikes  its  in- 
habitant. 

The  week  that  had  passed  between  the  acceptance 
of  her  plan  and  this,  the  last  night  of  her  stay  at 
Silorno,  confirmed  the  soundness  of  her  strategy. 
Archie's  frank  friendliness  towards  herself  had  un- 
dergone a  subtle  change,  while  his  relations  with  her 
sister  remained  precisely  on  the  same  calm  table- 
land of  comradeship.  But  below  his  comradeship 
with  herself,  like  the  sun  glowing  faintly  through 
a  mist  without  heat  at  present,  but  with  penetration 
of  light,  she  knew  that  there  was  growing  an  emo- 
tional brightness.  It  was  with  light  and  with  a 
nameless  quickening  that  his  eyes  dwelt  on  her,  and 
now  as  they  sat  in  the  deep  dusk  of  the  garden, 
illuminated  only  by  the  stars  that  twinkled  like 
minute  golden  oranges  in  the  boughs  of  the  stone- 
pine,  she  knew  that  he  was  looking  at  the  pale 
wraith  of  her  face,  which  was  all  the  starlight  left 
her  with,  in  a  manner  that  was  not  yet  a  week  old. 
It  was  so  dark,  here  in  the  deep  shade,  that  she  saw 
nothing  of  his  sun-tanned  face  beyond  a  featureless 
oval,  but  when  from  time  to  time  he  drew  on  his 
cigarette  it  leaped  into  distinctness.  There  was 
emotion  there,  or  at  any  rate  the  stuff  from  which 
emotion  is  made;  there  was  need,  not  yet  wholly 
conscious  of  itself,  but  waiting  like  buried  treasure 
to  be  released. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  13S 

And  on  her  side  also,  something  was  astir  behind 
her  calculated  plan.  She  felt  sorry,  until  the  wisdom 
of  her  project  laid  its  calming  hand  upon  her  again, 
that  she  was  being  so  unselfish  as  to  accompany 
Cousin  Marion  back  to  town.  It  would  have  been 
extraordinarily  pleasant  to  sit  here  many  times  more 
with  Archie,  and  both  watch  and  take  part  in  the 
growth  of  the  situation  of  which  the  seed  had  been 
deliberately  planted  by  herself.  It  was  but  a  weak 
little  spike  as  yet,  but  undeniably  there  was  the  po- 
tentiality of  growth  in  it. 

Suddenly  his  face  leapt  into  light  as  he  struck 
a  match,  and  the  gain  of  a  fortnight's  London  season 
seemed  to  her  insignificant.  And  the  success  of  her 
plan,  the  wisdom  of  which  she  still  endorsed,  was  but 
a  frigid  triumph,  for  she  felt  to  a  degree  yet  un- 
known to  her  his  personal  chai^m. 

"Oh,  Archie,  I  wish  I  wasn't  going  away,"  she  said. 
"It  has  been  a  nice  time.  I  wish — no,  I  suppose 
that's  selfish  of  me." 

"I  want  to  know  what  is  selfish  of  you,"  said  he. 

"Do  you?  Well,  as  it's  our  last  evening  you  shall. 
I  wish  I  thought  you  would  miss  me  more." 

He  moved  just  a  shade  closer  to  her. 

"Oh,  I  shall  miss  you  quite  enough,"  he  said. 

She  laughed. 

"I  don't  think  you  will,"  she  said.  "You'll  have 
your  bathing  and  your  boating  and  your  writing.  I 
expect  you  will  have  a  very  jolly  time." 

He  seemed  to  think  over  this. 

"Yes,  I  shall  have  all  those  things,"  he  said.  "And 
I  like  them.  Why  shouldn't  I?  But — no,  like  you, 
I  won't  say  that." 

"But  I  did,"  she  remarked. 

"Well,  I  will  too.     I  shall  miss  you  much  more 


134         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

than  I  should  have  missed  you  if  you  had  gone  away 
a  week  ago." 

She,  too,  hesitated  a  moment.  Then  very  coolly 
she  replied : 

"Thank  you  very  much." 

There  was  calculation  in  that:  she  had  thought 
over  her  polite,  chilly  manner  swiftly  but  carefully. 
And  she  had  calculated  rightly.  He  chucked  away 
the  cigarette  he  had  only  just  lit. 

"Helena,  have  I  offended  you?"  he  asked.  "Why 
do  you  speak  like  that?" 

Again  she  traversed  a  second's  swift  thought. 

"Of  course  you  haven't  offended  me,"  she  said 
lightly.  "You'll  have  to  try  harder  than  that  if  you 
want  to  offend  me.  My  dear,  do  try  again.  Try 
to  make  me  feel  hurt." 

Archie  was  a  little  excited.  There  was  some  inti- 
mate little  contest  going  on  that  affected  him  phys- 
ically with  secret  delight,  just  as  he  was  affected  in 
his  hmbs  by  some  cross-current  to  the  direction  of 
his  swimming,  or  in  his  brain  by  the  tussle  for  the 
word  he  wanted  when  he  was  writing.  He  was 
sparring  with  something  dear  to  him. 

"Try  to  hurt  me,"  she  said  softly.  But  now  her 
wisdom  was  lulled,  she  wanted  him  to  hurt  her,  just 
because  she  wanted  to  be  hurt  by  him. 

"Very  well,"  said  he.  "I'm  glad  you're  going  away 
to-morrow.    Will  that  do?" 

She  laughed  again. 

"It  would  do  excellently  well  if  you  meant  it," 
she  said.     "But  you  don't  mean  it." 

"You're  very  hard  to  please,"  said  he. 

"Not  in  the  least.  If  you  want  to  please  me,  say 
that  you'U  be  very  glad  to  see  me  again  in  a  few 
weeks." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  135 

"I  certainly  shall,  but  I  shan't  say  it.  You  know 
it  quite  well  enough  without  my  assurance." 

She  leaned  forward  a  little. 

"But  say  it  all  the  same,  Archie/'  she  said.  "Say 
it  quite  out  loud." 

Archie  threw  back  his  head  and  shouted  at  the 
stone-pine. 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you  again  in — what 
was  it? — in  a  few  weeks,"  he  cried. 

"Ah,  that  is  nice  of  you.  No,  I'm  not  sure  that 
it's  nice,  because  you've  brought  Jessie  and  Mr. 
Harry  out  into  the  garden." 

That  seemed  to  be  the  case,  for  undeniably  the 
two  moved  out  into  the  bright  square  of  light  cast 
from  the  lit  passage  within.  Archie  got  up  swiftly 
and  suddenly,  with  a  bubble  of  laughter. 

"Oh,  let's  be  like  the  garden  scene  in  Faust,"  he 
whispered.  "Don't  you  know  when  the  two  couples 
wander  about — Ah,  they've  seen  us:  they  don't  do 
that  in  well-conducted  opera." 

This  was  true  enough,  for  immediately  Helena's 
name  was  called  by  her  sister.    She  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"Yes,  darling,"  she  said. 

"Cousin  Marion  thinks  it's  time  you  went  to  bed," 
said  Jessie.  "And  is  Archie  there,  too?  She  wants 
to  see  him." 

Archie  and  Helena  exchanged  a  quick  glance  in 
the  darkness.  They  knew  it,  rather  than  saw  it; 
Helena,  at  any  rate,  was  quite  certain  of  it. 

"I  must  go  in  then,"  he  said.  "Your  fault  for 
making  me  shout." 

Helena  recollected  a  revue  that  she  and  Archie 
had  seen  together. 

"The  woman  pays,"  she  said  in  a  histrionic  fal- 
setto, and  without  further  word  ran  into  the  house, 


136  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

feeling  very  well  satisfied  with  herself.  She  was 
sure  that  she  had  made  herself  a  little  enigmatical  to 
him,  had  roused  his  curiosity.  Decidedly  he  wanted 
to  know  more.  .  .  . 

Archie  always  slept  in  a  hammock  slung  between 
the  stone-pine  and  the  acacia  in  the  garden,  for 
though  that  year  which  he  had  spent  at  Schonberg, 
with  which  our  history  of  his  childhood  closed^ 
seemed  to  have  eradicated  the  seeds  of  consumption 
from  him,  he  was  still  recommended  to  pass  as  much 
of  his  time  as  possible  out-of-doors.  The  fourteen 
years  that  had  elapsed  since  then  had  given  him  six 
feet  of  robust  height,  and  there  seemed  now  but 
little  danger  of  the  hereditary  foe  again  beleaguering 
him.  He  had  spent  five  years  at  Eton,  and  now  had 
just  finished  his  course  at  Cambridge  where  he  had 
contrived  to  combine  classics  and  rowing  in  a  thor- 
oughly satisfactory  manner,  distinguishing  himself 
in  each.  Even  as  he  seemed  to  have  outgrown  his 
physical  weakness,  so  too  he  had  outgrown,  to  all 
appearance,  those  strange  abnormal  experiences 
which  had  been  his  in  childhood,  his  power  of  auto- 
matic writing,  and  the  inexplicable  communication 
from  his  dead  brother.  Certainly  since  his  four- 
teenth year  there  had  been  no  more  of  them ;  it  was 
as  if  they  had  belonged  entirely  to  the  years  when 
he  trailed  the  clouds  of  glory  that  hang  about  child- 
hood. But  even  now,  in  the  normal  vigour  of  his 
young  manhood,  they  did  not  seem  to  him  to  be  in 
the  least  unreal,  indeed,  they  were  to  him,  in  spite 
of  their  fantastic  and  unusual  nature,  the  most  sub- 
stantial treasures  in  his  store-house  of  memory.  The 
difference  was  that  now  they  were  sealed  up:  some 
key  had  been  turned  on  them  in  his  interior  life, 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  137 

and  they  were  inaccessible  to  him.  But  never  for 
a  moment  did  he  doubt  that  they  were  there:  out  of 
reach  they  might  be,  but  he  still  possessed  them,  and, 
though  he  made  no  effort  to  unlock  the  door,  he  be- 
lieved that  the  key  to  them  was  neither  lost  nor 
broken,  but  still  existed  within  him,  though,  maybe, 
its  wards  were  rusted  with  unuse.  But  some  day,  he 
felt  sure,  the  impulse  would  come  to  him  either 
from  without  or  within,  to  search  for  it,  and  he 
knew  precisely  where,  with  every  prospect  of  finding, 
he  would  look  for  it.  For  he  still  had  the  power  of 
letting  himself  lapse  into  that  trance-condition  in 
which  he  sank  into  a  depth  of  sunlit  waters,  and  in 
that  mysterious  abyss  he  knew  he  could  find  the  key 
to  the  sealed  treasures,  and,  though  it  was  long  since 
he  had  penetrated  there,  he  knew  his  way. 

To-night  as  he  lay  in  his  hammock  he  felt  no 
wish  or  inclination  to  sleep,  but  lay  with  eyes  open 
looking  into  the  sombre  dark  of  the  pine  above  his 
head,  where  the  stars  twinkled  at  the  edge  of  the 
needles  of  the  foliage.  The  gale  that  had  raged  that 
afternoon  had  blown  itself  out:  not  a  breath  of 
breeze  sighed  in  the  pine,  and  of  the  fierceness  of 
these  uproarious  hours  there  was  nothing  left  but 
the  ever  diminishing  thunder  of  the  waves  three 
hundred  feet  below.  From  horizon  to  zenith  the  sky 
was  bare  and  kirtled  with  stars,  and  to  the  East  over 
the  hills  across  the  bay  the  dove-colour  that  pre- 
cedes the  rising  of  the  moon  was  soaking  through  the 
heavens.  A  faint  odour  from  the  thicket  of  tobacco- 
plants  that  grew  at  the  foot  of  his  hammock  was 
spreading  through  the  air,  ineffably  fragrant,  and 
the  dew  brought  with  it  the  smell  of  damp  and  fruit- 
ful earth. 


138  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Archie  lay  quite  still,  content  to  rest  without 
sleep:  he  was  sure  that  he  would  go  to  sleep  soon, 
imperceptibly  to  himself,  and  he  waited  quite  tran- 
quilly for  the  soft  tide  to  engulf  him,  letting  his 
memory  hover  now  and  then  over  his  adventures  of 
the  afternoon,  but  always  bringing  it  back  to  the 
half-hour  he  had  sat,  close  to  where  he  now  lay,  with 
Helena.  He  had,  as  sleep  approached,  the  vague 
sense  of  sinking  into  some  quiet  depth,  but  his  mind 
was  too  tranquilly  disposed  to  do  more  than  register 
this  impression,  and  then,  quite  suddenly,  without 
the  transition  state  of  drowsiness  he  went  fast  asleep. 
He  had  noticed  just  before  that  the  moon  had  risen. 

He  slept  long  and  dreamlessly,  and  then  began  to 
dream  with  extraordinary  vividness.  He  dreamed 
that  he  had  not  gone  to  sleep  at  all,  but  still  lay  in 
his  hammock,  in  the  shade  of  the  pine,  while  the  gar- 
den outside  was  full  of  the  white  blaze  of  the  moon- 
light and  ebony-cut  shadows.  The  thunder  of  the 
surf  had  quite  died  away,  the  tobacco-plants  still 
gave  out  their  odour,  and  the  stars  a  little  quenched 
by  the  moon  had  faded  in  the  boughs  of  the  pine. 
And  then  he  perceived  (but  with  no  sense  of  strange- 
ness) that  there  was  something  new  in  the  garden, 
for  close  to  the  door  into  the  Castello  was  standing 
a  white  marble  statue.  This  brought  his  legs  over 
the  side  of  his  hammock,  and  he  got  up  to  go  and 
look  at  it,  and  then  remembered,  so  he  thought,  all 
about  it.  It  was  the  statue  of  Helena  which  she 
had  told  him  was  a  gift  from  her  to  him,  and  it  did 
not  seem  at  all  unnatural  that  it  should  have  been 
brought  out  and  put  in  the  garden.  But  as  he  had 
not  seen  it  yet,  he  walked  now  across  to  it,  and 
found  an  admirable  and  lovely  figure.  It  was  clad 
in  a  long  Greek  chiton,  low  at  the  throat  and  reach- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  139 

ing  nearly  to  her  feet  which  were  sandalled.  One 
hand  was  advanced  to  him  with  a  beckoning  ges- 
ture: the  other  with  its  exquisite  arm  bare  to  the 
shoulder  hung  by  her  side.  The  statue  was  life-size, 
for,  standing  on  its  low  marble  plinth,  the  face  was 
just  on  a  level  with  his.  Exquisite  in  its  fidelity  and 
its  beauty  was  that  small  head  on  its  slender  neck, 
and  it  endorsed  the  message  of  her  beckoning  hand. 
The  lips,  uncurled  m  a  half-smile,  mysteriously  in- 
vited him;  the  body,  too,  was  a  little  inchned  for- 
ward towards  him:  next  moment  surely  she  would 
step  down  from  her  pedestal,  and,  like  Galatea, 
shake  off  the  semblance  of  stone,  and  declare  herself 
his. 

Standing  there,  entranced  and  strangely  excited, 
Archie  drank  in  the  amazing  loveliness  of  the  figure. 
White  and  flawless,  without  speck  or  stain,  the  snow 
of  the  Parian  quarries  gleamed  in  the  moonlight. 
And  then  he  saw  that  just  where  the  neck  flowed 
with  the  strength  and  tenderness  of  a  river  into  the 
shoulders,  there  was  a  small  dark  spot,  and  taking 
a  step  nearer  he  put  out  his  hand  to  flick  it  away. 
But  it  did  not  come  away:  it  was  as  if  some  little 
excrescence  had  stuck  to  the  marble,  and  making  a 
second  attempt  he  felt  that  it  was  soft,  and  that  it 
grew  a  little  longer.  It  moved,  too ;  it  wriggled  like 
the  head  of  a  worm,  and  then  with  a  faint  feeling  of 
disgust  he  saw  that  it  was  indeed  the  head  or  tail  of 
an  ordinary  worm  protruding  from  the  marble,  just 
as  a  worm  comes  up  through  earth.  Even  as  he 
looked,  there  came  another  such  speck  near  the 
mouth ;  this  also  grew  and  wriggled,  then  came  an- 
other on  the  arm  which  was  put  forward  to  welcome 
him. 

Archie  stood  there,  transfixed  no  longer  by  ad- 


140         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

miration  and  wonder,  but  by  an  ever  growing  sense 
of  horror.  Everywhere,  from  face  and  hair  and 
hand,  and  from  the  folds  of  the  lovely  Greek  drap- 
ery there  started  out  those  loathsome  reptiles.  Some 
nightmare  of  catalepsy  invaded  him;  he  could  not 
move,  he  could  not  call  out,  he  could  not  turn  away 
his  eyes,  but  he  had  to  watch  until  where  lately  this 
masterpiece  of  lovely  limbs  and  head  had  stood, 
there  was  a  column,  as  high  as  himself,  of  wriggling 
corruption,  bred  apparently  from  within.  Then, 
horror  adding  itself  to  horror,  this  portent  of  decay 
began  to  move  slowly  towards  him. 

Still  he  could  not  move,  but  at  last,  when  it  was 
not  more  than  a  foot  or  two  from  him,  he  found  his 
voice,  and  could  scream  for  help.  He  could  just  hear 
himself  shouting,  but  no  help  came.  Already  he 
could  feel  the  touch  of  those  horrible  things,  and 
with  a  supreme  effort  he  managed  to  move  his  head 
away  from  that  myriad  loathsome  touch,  and  lo,  he 
was  seated  upright  in  his  hammock,  and  the  moon 
was  low  in  the  West,  and  over  the  Eastern  hills  was 
the  light  that  preceded  day.  His  face  streamed  with 
the  agony  of  the  nightmare. 

He  sat  still  a  little  while,  drinking  in  reassurance 
from  the  miracle  of  the  tranquil  dawn,  and  wonder- 
ing at  the  suddenness  with  which  he  had  gone  to 
sleep,  so  that  his  disquieting  dream  had  seemed  the 
uninterrupted  continuation  of  his  consciousness. 
And,  as  his  fright  faded,  there  faded  also  the  mem- 
ory of  what  his  dream  had  been:  there  had  been 
something  about  a  statue,  something  about  worms, 
something  connected  with  Helena.  Even  as  he 
thought  about  it,  it  continued  to  recede  from  him, 
and  before  he  dozed  off  again,  the  whole  thing  had 
slipped  out  of  his  memory,  and  when  an  hour  later 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  141 

he  got  up  to  accompany  the  traveller?  on  their  early 
start,  as  far  as  the  station,  there  was  nothing  what- 
ever left  of  it.  He  knew  only  that  he  had  awoke  in  a 
state  of  inexplicable  terror,  arising  from  some  dream 
which  had  vanished  from  his  memory  like  a  mist 
at  dawn. 

The  three  left  behind  adjusted  themselves,  as 
friends  can  do,  to  their  narrowed  circle,  and  moved 
sensibly  closer  to  each  other.  They  all  had  their 
tasks  to  sweeten  the  enjoyment  of  their  leisure,  for 
to  Jessie  fell  the  Martha-cares  of  the  house,  which 
she  transacted  by  the  aid  of  an  Italian  dictionary 
with  the  cook  Assunta;  to  Harry  Travers,  now  a 
junior  at  Cambridge,  the  preparation  of  a  course  of 
history  lectures  next  term;  to  Archie,  the  incessant 
practice  in  the  endless  and  elusive  art  of  writing 
prose.  The  love  to  express  what  he  loved  in  words 
was  no  less  than  a  passion  with  him,  and  it  is  almost 
needless  to  add  that  the  sea  was  his  inspiring  theme. 
He  certainly  had  the  prime  essential  of  devotion 
both  to  his  subject  and  to  the  technique  of  his  art, 
and  these  little  essays  called  "Idylls  of  the  Sea" 
promised,  if  ever  he  could  persuade  himself  to  finish 
them,  to  be  a  really  exquisite  piece  of  work.  They 
were  the  simplest  sketches  of  fishers  and  ships  and 
the  like,  but  to  satisfy  him,  the  sea  had  to  sound  in 
every  line  of  them,  even  as  it  sounded  in  the  ears  of 
those  about  whom  he  wrote.  Just  now  he  was  trying 
to  recapture  all  that  had  made  the  ecstasy  to  him  of 
that  risky  voyage  homewards  across  the  bay  a  few 
days  before,  and  to  fire  his  words  with  that  thrill 
which  he  never  quite  despaired  of  communicating. 
As  a  rule,  their  day  arranged  itself  very  regularly: 
early  breakfast  was  succeeded  by  a  couple  of  hours 


142  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

of  task,  and  a  couple  more  were  spent  in  bathing,  no 
affair  of  hurried  undressing,  of  chilly  immersion  and 
a  huddling  on  of  clothes,  but  of  long  baskings  on  the 
shore,  and  a  mile-long  ploughing,  for  Archie,  at 
least,  out  into  the  bay,  or  along  the  coast  and  round 
beyond  the  furthest  promontory.  Much  though  he 
liked  the  companionship  of  the  others,  he  was  never 
sorry  when  first  Jessie,  and  then  Harry  turned  shore- 
wards  again,  for  it  was  the  companionship  and  com- 
munion of  the  sea  that  was  closest  to  him  when  he 
was  alone.  He  would  burrow  his  way  through  it  on 
the  sidestroke  buried  in  the  foam  of  his  progress, 
and,  when  exhausted  and  breathless,  turn  onto  his 
back  to  be  cradled  and  rocked  by  it,  secure  in  its 
enveloping  presence,  even  as  in  the  days  of  child- 
hood he  would  lie  happy  and  serene  in  the  knowl- 
edge that  Blessington  was  close  by  him.  Or  he 
would  dive  deep  and  see  through  "the  fallen  day" 
the  dazzle  of  the  sun  on  the  surface  far  above  him, 
and  then  swim  up  again  and  after  the  greenness  and 
the  paleness  below  find  a  red  and  glowing  firmament. 
But  best  of  all  was  it  to  swim  out  very  far  from  land, 
and  then  just  exist  with  arms  and  legs  spread  wide, 
encompassed  and  surrounded  by  mere  sea.  He  did 
not  want  to  think  about  anything  at  all,  or  to  be- 
labour his  brain  with  strivings  to  cast  into  words  the 
sea-sense  that  would  come  afterwards  when  with 
gnawed  pencil  and  erased  sentences  he  sat  in  the 
garden: — but  he  only  opened  himself  out  to  it,  and 
drank  it  in  through  eye  and  ear  and  skin  and  wide- 
spread limbs.  .  .  .  And  all  this,  even  when  phys- 
ically he  most  realised  this  sea-sense,  was  but  a  sym- 
bol, and  the  more  vivid  the  physical  consciousness  of 
the  sea  became,  the  dimmer  it  also  became  in  the 
light  of  what  it  stood  for.    For  even  as  the  sea,  eter- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  143 

nally  incorruptible,  received  into  itself  without  stain 
all  that  the  putrefying  land  with  its  ordure  and 
sewers  poured  into  it,  so  round  human  life  with  its 
sores  and  its  decay  there  lay  an  immense  and  eter- 
nal incorruption,  which  purified  all  life  as  it  passed 
into  it,  and  turned  it  into  something  pellucid  and 
immortal.  Dying  would  be  like  that,  dying  was  no 
more  than  being  poured  into  this  jubilant  ocean,  and 
becoming  part  of  its  clean  exuberant  life  .  .  . 

But  Archie  had  no  intention  of  dying  just  yet, 
and  indeed  these  metaphysical  speculations  only 
reached  him  like  the  sound  of  chimes  blown  across 
the  water,  while  far  clearer  was  the  stertorous  bari- 
tone of  Harry,  calling  from  the  beach,  "Archie,  it's 
after  twelve,"  and  thereupon  Archie  would  turn  on 
his  chest,  and  swim  back  to  land,  with  a  frill  of 
foam  encircling  his  sunburnt  throat,  and  a  wake  of 
bubbles  following  the  strokes  of  his  strong  legs. 
Thereafter  he  would  cast  himself  onto  the  beach 
with  a  straw  hat  tipped  over  his  eyes,  and  his  sun- 
tanned legs  and  arms  spread  star-fish-fashion,  and 
lie  there  drinking  in  the  sun,  while  Harry  and  Jessie 
reviled  him  for  causing  lunch,  for  which  they  hun- 
gered, to  be  again  half  an  hour  behind  the  sched- 
uled time.  And  Archie,  lighting  a  cigarette,  turned 
on  his  elbow  and  called  them  greedy  hogs  for  think- 
ing about  lunch,  when  it  was  possible  to  lie  in  the 
sun,  and  swim  in  the  sea.  Then  as  likely  as  not,  he 
would  himself  be  aware  of  a  celestial  appetite,  and 
step  into  a  pair  of  flannel  trousers  and  a  sea-stained 
shirt,  and  in  turn  revile  their  tardiness  in  climbing 
the  olived  terraces  that  lay  between  them  and  the 
Castello. 

They  lunched  in  the  garden,  in  a  strip  of  shade 
outside  the  house,  and  thereafter,  without  any  pre- 


144  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

tence  at  all  about  the  matter,  Harry  and  Jessie  went 
to  their  rooms  for  an  honest  Italian  siesta,  with  no 
excuse  of  lying  on  beds  and  reading,  but  with  the 
avowed  object  of  lying  on  beds  and  sleeping.  But 
this  two  hours  swimming  and  basking  and  commun- 
ion with  the  sea,  instead  of  making  Archie  sleepy, 
gave  him  his  most  productive  hours  of  work,  and 
wide-eyed  and  eager  he  would  sit  with  jotted  notes 
and  scribbling-paper  round  him,  read  over  the  last 
few  pages  of  his  current  story,  and  correct  and  erase 
and  rewrite  with  an  unquenchable  optimism.  There 
would  be  moments  of  despair,  moments  of  wrestling 
with  a  recalcitrant  sentence,  when  he  walked  about 
in  the  blaze  of  the  sun,  and  bit  his  pencil  till  his 
teeth  cracked  through  into  the  lead,  moments  of 
triumph  when  the  impalpable  sensation  he  wished 
to  record  seemed  to  surrender  itself  to  the  embrace 
of  verbs  and  adjectives.  Up  till  tea-time  when  the 
others  shuffled  (or  so  he  termed  it)  out  of  the  house 
after  their  slumbers,  he  tasted  the  glories  and  the 
travail  of  creation,  or,  it  might  be,  the  pangs  of 
fruitless  labour,  but  he  knew,  at  any  rate,  the  joys 
of  ecstatic  mental  activity. 

On  one  such  day,  some  weeks  after  his  mother 
and  Helena  had  gone  back  to  England,  he  felt  him- 
self fit  to  burst  with  all  that  he  had  stored  within 
him,  ready  for  expression.  As  they  drank  their 
coffee  he  had  employed  himself  in  sharpening  a 
couple  of  pencils  (for  the  Vv^ork  of  transcription  into 
ink  came  later  in  the  day)  so  as  not  to  interrupt  by 
any  physical  intrusion  the  flow  of  all  he  knew  was 
ready  to  be  crystallised  into  words.  Sometimes  the 
least  distraction  broke  some  kind  of  thread  when  he 
was  in  communication  with  the  sea  ...    It  may  be 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  145 

added  that  no  one  was  ever  less  pompous  about  his 
aspirations. 

To-day  Harry  observed  the  sharpening  of  the  pen- 
cils, and  commented. 

*'So  a  masterpiece  is  signalled,  Archie,"  he  said. 

Archie  blew  the  lead-dust  from  his  finger. 

"Quite  right,  old  boy,"  he  said.  ''Lord!  I'm  full 
of  great  thoughts.  Do  go  to  bed,  and  then  I'll  begin." 

Jessie  joined  in. 

"Archie,  do  let  me  hold  your  pencils  for  you,"  she 
said,  "like  Dora  in  David  Copperfield.  I  shall  feel 
as  if  I  was  doing  something." 

Archie  laughed. 

"You  would  be,"  he  remarked.  "You  would  be 
making  an  uncommon  nuisance  of  yourself." 

"You  are  polite." 

"No,  I'm  not,  I'm  rude.  I'm  being  rude  on  pur- 
pose. I  want  you  to  be  offended  and  go  away.  I 
want  Harry  to  go  away  too.  I  want  you  both  to 
lie  on  your  beds  and  snore  like  hogs." 

"I  was  thinking  of  getting  a  book  and  reading 
out  here,"  said  Jessie.  "I  feel  it's  unsociable  to 
leave  you  alone." 

"When  you've  finished  being  funny,"  remarked 
Archie,  "you  may  go  to  bed.  You  may  get  down  at 
once.  Say  your  grace  and  get  down.  You  too,  Mas- 
ter Harry.  Oh,  Harry,  do  you  remember  how  you 
used  to  come  to  tea  in  the  nursery,  and  Blessington 
made  us  behave  properly  till  tea  was  over?" 

"Then  did  you  behave  improperly?"  asked  Jessie. 

"I  don't  think  we  did  really.  Once  we  went  into 
the  shrubbery  and  changed  clothes.  At  least  I  put 
on  yours,  but  you  couldn't  put  on  mine  because  they 
were  too  small.  That's  what  Browning  calls  Time's 
Revenges.'    I  couldn't  put  on  yours  now,  could  I? 


146  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

The  Italian  authorities  would  prosecute  me  for  in- 
decency. Lord,  what  a  little  fellow  you  are,  Harry. 
Time  for  a  little  fellow  to  go  to  bed.  Oh,  don't  rag; 
I  never  said  you  weren't  strong.  Yes,  Jessie,  you're 
strong  too,  and  it's  like  a  girl  to  pull  my  hair.  Oh, 
do  shut  up." 

Archie  had  reasonable  cause  for  complaint.  Jessie 
had  suddenly  come  behind  him,  and  taken  a  great 
handful  of  touzled  hair  into  her  grasp,  so  that 
Archie's  head  was  held  immovable,  while  Harry 
tickled  his  ribs.  You  can  do  nothing  with  your  arms 
if  your  head  is  held  quite  still.  But  presently  the 
wicked  ceased  from  troubling,  and  Archie  was  left 
alone.  But  after  Jessie  had  gone  to  her  room,  she 
stood  still  a  moment  before  making  herself  comfort- 
able for  her  nap,  and  then  she  laid  across  her  nose 
and  mouth  the  outspread  hand  that  had  grasped 
Archie's  hair.  In  her  fingers  there  remained  some 
faint  odour  of  warm  sea-salt,  and,  as  by  a  separate 
memory  of  their  own,  there  remained  in  them  the 
sense  of  their  closing  over  that  brown,  bright, 
springy  handful. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Archie  thought  no  more  either  of  his  tickled  ribs  or 
his  grasped  hair  when  his  friends  had  definitely  re- 
moved themselves,  and  with  a  sigh  of  delight  he  took 
up  a  sharpened  pencil  and  a  block  of  scribbling  pa- 
per. He  had  grasped  something,  he  thought,  this 
morning,  that  must  instantly  be  committed  to 
words,  before  he  even  read  over  his  last  page  or  two, 
for  his  hand  starved  and  itched  to  be  writing.  There 
was  an  odd  trembling  in  his  fingers,  and  his  conscious 
brain  was  full  of  what  he  wanted  to  say.  But  when 
he  put  his  pencil  onto  the  block,  and  concentrated 
his  mind  on  that  liquid  message  of  the  sea  that  had 
reached  him  to-day,  he  found  that  his  hand  found 
nothing  to  write.  His  brain  was  full  of  what  he 
wanted  to  write,  but  his  hand  disowned  the  con- 
trolling impulse.  Again  and  once  again  he  cast  the 
thought  in  his  brain  into  reasonable  language,  but 
there  his  hand  still  stayed,  as  if  some  signal  was 
against  it.     Simply  it  would  not  proceed. 

Archie  had  known  similar  obstacles  before,  though 
they  had  never  been  so  strong  as  this.  Probably  the 
thought  was  not  yet  clarified  enough,  and  for  that 
the  usual  remedy  was  a  stroll  about  the  garden,  a 
look  at  the  sea  from  the  parapetted  wall.  He  tried 
this,  returning  again  with  a  conviction  that  now  he 
would  be  able  to  give  words  to  the  impression  that 
was  so  strong  in  his  conscious  brain,  and  as  he  took 
up  his  pencil  again,  again  his  hand  seemed  to  be 

147 


148  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

yearning  to  write.  There  was  that  coral-lipped 
anemone  at  the  edge  of  the  water,  there  was  a  shoal 
of  little  fishes  which  as  they  turned  became  a  sheet 
of  dazzling  silver  .  .  .  all  that  was  ready  for  the 
hand  that  twitched  in  expectancy.  But  again  his 
hand  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  that:  the  brain- 
signal  showed  itself  to  an  uncomprehending  engine. 

Suddenly  and  with  distaste,  Archie  perceived  what 
was  happening,  and  divorcing  from  his  mind  the 
message  that  his  brain  was  tingling  to  convey,  he  let 
his  mere  hand,  untroubled  by  a  fighting  conscious- 
ness, do  what  it  chose.  His  hand  was  no  longer  in 
his  own  control:  something,  somebody  else  possessed 
it.  But  it  was  with  conscious  reluctance  that  he 
resigned  this  mechanism  to  the  controlling  agent 
who  was  not  himself.  He  watched  with  absolute 
detachment,  the  words  that  came  on  his  paper  in  a 
firm  upright  handwriting  quite  unlike  his  own. 

"Archie,  you  have  had  a  warning,"  his  hand  wrote. 
"Now  you  must  manage  for  yourself.  I  shall  watch, 
but  I  mayn't  do  more.  You  have  got  to  do  your  best 
and  your  highest.  That's  the  root  of  probation.  But 
I  am  always  your  most  loving  brother.  When  you 
were  a  child  I  could  reach  you  .  .  .  (Then  followed 
some  meaningless  scribbles).    But  it's  Martin." 

The  pencil  gave  a  great  dash  across  the  paper,  and 
instantly  Archie  knew  that  his  hand  had  returned  to 
its  normal  allegiance.  At  once  the  sea-thoughts 
that  had  occupied  him  seethed  and  roared  in  his 
brain,  and  his  hand  was  straining  to  put  them 
down.  He  tore  off  the  involuntary  message  from  his 
block,  and  laying  it  aside,  plunged  with  all  the  force 
of  his  conscious  self  into  this  ecstasy  of  conveying 
with  black  marks  on  white  paper  all  that  had  ob- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  14^ 

sessed  him  this  morning  as  he  swam  out  to  sea  and 
lay  between  sun  and  water,  the  happiest  of  earthly- 
animals,  and  the  nearest  to  the  key  of  the  symbol. 
Then  after  a  half-hour  of  pure  interpretation,  that 
was  finished  too,  and  he  lay  back  in  his  chair  and 
picked  up  the  Martin-message  again.  It  seemed  a 
nonsensical  affair  when  he  so  regarded  it.  What  was 
his  warning,  after  all?  What  did  that  mean?  He 
had  had  no  warning  of  any  sort.  But  it  was  strange 
that  after  all  those  years  of  silence,  Martin  should 
come  to  guide  him  again,  though  at  the  self-same 
time  he  told  him  not  to  look  for  further  guidance. 

Archie  put  the  paper  with  its  well-remembered 
upright  handwriting  back  on  the  table  again,  lay 
back  in  his  long  chair,  drowsy  and  fatigued  after  his 
spell  of  fiery  writing.  Almost  at  once  sleep  began  to 
invade  him:  the  outline  of  the  stone-pine,  etched 
against  the  sky  grew  blurred,  as  his  eyelids  fluttered 
and  closed.  And  then  without  pause  or  transition  he 
saw  a  white  statue  standing  close  to  him,  on  the  neck 
of  which  there  wriggled  the  tail  of  a  worm,  protrud- 
ing from  the  fair  white  surface,  and  instantly  his 
forgotten  dream  leaped  into  his  mind,  with  a  pang 
of  horror.  That  was  what  his  dream  had  been: 
there  had  been  a  statue  standing  just  there  white  in 
the  moonlight,  and  even  as  he  worshipped  and 
adored  it  with  love  and  boundless  admiration,  those 
foul  symbols  of  decay  had  wreathed  about  it.  Next 
moment  he  plucked  himself  from  his  dozing,  and 
there  was  no  statue  there  at  all,  but  the  far  more 
comfortable  figure  of  Jessie,  standing  in  its  place, 
with  laughter  in  her  eye. 

"Oh,  that's  what  you  do,  Archie,"  she  said,  "when 
you  pretend  to  come  out  into  the  garden  to  work, 
and  despise  Harry  and  me  for  sleeping." 


150  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Archie  jumped  up  from  his  chair,  and  brandished 
in  her  face  the  page  of  his  consciously-written  manu- 
script. The  leaf  on  which  the  message  from  Martin 
was  written  still  lay  apart  from  those  on  the  table. 

"I  may  have  closed  my  eyes  for  one  second,"  he 
said.  ''But  I've  written  all  that  since  lunch.  Oh, 
it's  got  the  sea  in  it,  Jessie:  I  really  believe  there's 
the  sea  there.  I'll  read  it  you  this  evening,  if  you'll 
apologise  for  saying  that  I  go  to  sleep  instead  of 
writing." 

She  picked  up  the  other  leaf. 

"Yes,  I  apologise,"  she  said,  "though  you  were 
asleep  when  I  came  out.  But  I  want  to  hear  what 
you've  written,  so  I  apologise  for  having  thought  so. 
And  there's  this  other  page  as  well." 

Archie  took  it  from  her. 

"That  doesn't  belong,"  he  said,  "That " 

He  paused  a  moment. 

"Do  you  remember  what  I  told  you  about  the 
messages  I  used  to  have  from  Martin  when  I  was  a 
child?"  he  asked. 

Jessie  nodded. 

"Yes:  and  they  have  ceased  altogether  for  years, 
haven't  they?"  she  said  quickly. 

"Until  to-day.  Just  now,  half  an  hour  ago,  I  had 
another  one.  But  I  can't  make  anything  out  of  it. 
He  tells  me  that  I've  had  a  warning.  I  don't  know 
what  it  means." 

Jessie  felt  all  the  habitual  contempt  of  the  thor- 
oughly normal  and  healthy  mind  for  anything  akin 
to  psychical  experiences.  All  ghosts,  in  her  view, 
were  to  be  classed  under  the  headings  of  rats  or 
lobster-salad:  all  such  things  as  table- tappings  and 
the  doings  of  mediums  under  the  heading  of  trick- 
ery.   But  knowing  what  she  did  of  Archie's  childish 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  151 

experiences,  she  could  not  put  them  down  as  trick- 
ery, and  so  was  unable  exactly  to  despise  them  as 
fraudulent.  For  that  very  reason  she  rather  feared 
them:   they  made  her  feel  uncomfortable. 

She  glanced  at  the  paper  he  held  out  to  her,  but 
without  taking  it. 

"Oh,  Archie,  I  distrust  all  that,"  she  said.  "I  was 
really  very  glad  when  you  told  me  that  for  all  these 
years  you  had  had  no  communication  from  him. 
Please  don't  have  any  more." 

He  laughed :  they  had  talked  about  this  before. 

"But  you  don't  understand,"  he  said.  "It  has 
nothing  to  do  with  my  wanting  or  not;  it  just  comes. 
This  afternoon  I  couldn't  help  writing  any  more 
than — than  one  can  help  sneezing." 

"You  can  if  you  rub  your  nose  the  wrong  way," 
said  Jessie  flippantly. 

"No  amount  of  rubbing  up  my  nose  either  the 
right  way  or  the  wrong  way  would  have  the  slightest 
effect,"  said  Archie.  "The  thing  is  imperative:  if 
Martin  wants  me  to  write,  I  must  write.  But  he 
says  here  that  he's  not  going  to  guide  me:  I  must 
look  after  myself.    I'm  sorry  for  that." 

"I'm  not,"  said  Jessie  quickly.  "There's  some- 
thing strange  and  uncanny  about  it.  I'm  not  sure 
that  I  think  it's  right  even." 

She  paused  a  moment. 

"Archie,  do  you  really  believe  that  it  is  the  spirit 
of  Martin  that  makes  you  write?"  she  said.  "Are 
you  sure " 

He  interrupted  her. 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said.  "It's  what  the 
Roman  Catholics  teach,  that  any  communication  of 
the  sort,  given  that  it  is  genuine,  and  not  some  mere 
mediumistic  trick,  is  not  less  than  converse  with 


152  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

some  evil  being  impersonating,  masquerading  as  the 
spirit  from  whom  the  communication  apparently 
comes.    Do  j^ou  mean  that?" 

Jessie  frowned,  fingering  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  do,"  she  said.  "I  think  the 
whole  thing  is  dangerous:  I  don't  think  it's  a  thing 
to  meddle  with." 

"But  I  don't  meddle  with  it,"  said  Archie.  "It 
meddles  with  me.  Besides  did  you  ever  hear  of  such 
an  unwarranted  assumption?  Mightn't  I  almost 
as  well  say  that  a  letter  which  reaches  me  from 
my  mother  doesn't  really  come  from  her,  but  from 
some  evil  creature  impersonating  her?  It  seems 
shnpler  to  suppose  that  it  comes  from  her,  that  her 
signature  is  genuine,  just  as  I  believe  Martin's  to 
be.  Do  you  really  think  that  when  I  was  a  poor 
little  consumptive  chap  at  Schonberg  I  was  really 
possessed  by  an  evil  spirit?  Isn't  that  rather  too 
horrible  an  imagining?  A  nice  state  the  next  world 
must  be  in,  if  that  sort  of  thing  is  allowed.  I  don't 
for  a  moment  think  it  is.  Can  you  reconcile  with 
the  idea  of  supreme  Love  governing  and  creating 
all  life  the  notion  that  there,  behind  the  scenes,  there 
are  evil  and  awful  beings  who  can  get  leave  to  com- 
municate with  a  child,  as  I  was,  pretending  to  be 
the  spirit  of  the  brother  I  never  knew?  Does  it 
sound  likely?" 

Jessie  paused  a  moment  again.  She  hated  the 
subject,  she  hated  the  idea  of  Archie's  being  con- 
cerned in  these  dim  avenues  to  the  unseen.  She  had, 
for  herself,  a  perfectly  unreasoning  and  child-like 
faith  that  there  was  this  world,  and  there  was  the 
next  world,  and  that  God  reigned  supreme  over 
both.  But  somehow  it  offended  this  instinctive  atti- 
tude that  the  next  world  and  those  who  had  gone 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  153 

there,  should  be  mixed  up  with  this  world.  They 
were  not  dead,  she  did  not  think  they  had  ceased  to 
exist,  but  they  were  done  with  this  world,  and  it  was 
something  like  a  profanity  to  meddle  with  them. 
But  then  Archie  had  not  meddled,  as  he  most  truly 
said :  they  seemed  to  have  meddled  with  him.  Their 
meddling  had  stopped  altogether  for  a  dozen  years, 
and  here  on  this  half  sheet  of  paper  was  the  evidence 
that  something  of  the  sort  had  begun  again. 

"I  thought  you  had  dropped  all  interest  in  it," 
she  said.  "I  thought  it  was  all  finished,  like  a  child- 
ish fairy-story,  like  the  Abracadabra  legend  Cousin 
Marion  told  me  about.  Oh,  there's  tea:  shall  we 
have  tea?" 

Pasqualino  had  indeed  spread  their  table  under- 
neath the  stone-pine,  and  she  hailed  this  as  a  possi- 
ble dismissal  of  the  whole  affair.  She  did  not  want 
to  talk  any  more  about  it,  and  if  below  her  silence 
there  should  lurk  a  fear,  she  preferred  to  cover  it  up, 
not  examine  it.    Archie  got  up. 

"Certainly  let  us  have  tea,"  he  said.  "Perhaps 
your  mind  will  be  clearer  after  tea.  I'm  not  going 
to  quit  the  question,  Jessie.  And  the  historian  is  at 
his  histories.  We  shall  be  alone,  you  and  I,  and  I 
want  to  talk  it  out.  Something  has  happened,  you 
see,  this  afternoon.  Martin — or  somebody — has 
written  again.  You  were  quite  right  to  imagine  that 
for  me  the  whole  thing  was  finished,  had  become  an 
Abracadabra-myth  as  you  said.  As  far  as  normal 
life  goes,  I  thought  it  had  too.  But  I  always  knew 
that  it  might  come  back.  And  it  has  come  back 
without  my  asking  for  it,  though  it — he — says  he's 
going  to  leave  me  alone.  But  after  all  he  says, 
'You've  got  to  do  your  best  and  your  highest.' 
Now  I  ask  you,  as  a  reasonable  female,  does  that 


154  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

look  like  a  message  from  a  devil?  No,  it's  Martin 
all  right,  bless  him.    But  let's  have  tea." 

They  moved  across  into  the  shadow  of  the  pine, 
where  the  table  sparkled  with  the  specks  of  stray 
sunshine  that  filtered  through  the  boughs.  And 
Jessie,  sane  and  normal,  held  on  to  those  evidences 
of  the  kindly  ordinary  human  life  as  an  anchor  to 
prevent  her  drifting  out  into  perilous  seas.  But  to 
Archie  no  seas  were  perilous:  they  might  engulf  his 
body  and  drown  him,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  they 
might  engulf  his  spirit,  but  they  were  not  perilous  in 
his  view.  They  were  just  the  sea,  the  great  encom- 
passing presence  .  .  . 

"Archie,  you  are  so  odd,"  she  said,  knowing  that 
he  meant  to  have  the  subject  talked  out,  and  that 
his  will  dominated  hers.  "You  spend  the  day  bath- 
ing and  sailing  and  writing;  you  eat  and  you  sleep, 
and  then  suddenly  you  spring  a  surprise  upon  me, 
and  shew  me  a  letter  you  have  had  from  Martin. 
Which  is  you,  the  surprise  or  the  Archie  that  I 
know?" 

Archie's  mouth  was  extraordinarily  full  of  rusk 
and  cherry- jam.  He  politely  disposed  of  them  be- 
fore replying. 

"But  they're  both  me,"  he  said.  "Of  course  we 
have  all  two  existences." 

"Dual  personality?"  she  asked. 

"Dual  fiddlesticks.  What  I  mean  is  that  in  every- 
body there  is  the  conscious  self  and  the  subconscious 
self,  but  they  do  not  make  a  dual  personality,  but 
one  personality.  Most  people,  you,  for  instance,  or 
Harry,  or  my  mother,  transact  everything  through 
the  conscious  personality.  For  all  practical  pur- 
poses your  subsconscious  self  doesn't  exist.  But  in 
some,  and  I'm  one  of  them,  the  subconscious  self 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  155 

is  accessible.  I  can  reach  it  if  I  want.  I  can  make 
it  act.  It  is  the  essential  life  which  we  all  of  us 
contain,  and,  as  such,  it  is  that  part  of  ourselves 
with  which  the  essential  life  of  those  who  have 
quitted  this  unessential  life  can  communicate.  Mar- 
tin doesn't  communicate  with  that  part  of  me  which 
directs  and  controls  my  conversation  with  you.  He 
spealvs  to  my  subconscious  self,  and  by  some  rather 
unusual  arrangement,  my  subconscious  life  can 
speak  to  my  conscious  life  and  convey  what  he  says 
to  my  hand,  or  as  once  happened,  when  at  Schon- 
berg  I  heard  him  call  me,  to  my  ear.  I  am  a  medium 
in  fact,  though  that  would  usually  suggest  something 
charlatanish.  I  can  bring  my  subconscious  life  to 
the  surface;  sometimes,  as  when  Martin  speaks  to 
it,  it  comes  to  the  surface  of  its  own  accord,  with 
strong  compulsion  over  my  conscious  self." 

He  paused  a  moment. 

"It's  all  very  odd,"  he  said.  "Until  this  afternoon, 
my  subconscious  self  had  lain  quite  quiet  for  years. 
Now  suddenly  it  asserts  itself  and  produces  that 
page  of  writing,  because  Martin  talked  to  it,  and 
told  it  to  make  my  hand  write.  What  other  explan- 
ation is  there,  unless  indeed  you  imagine  that  I  have 
merely  perpetrated  a  silly  hoax?  But  I  swear  to  you 
that  something  outside  myself  made  me  write. 
Baldly  stated  it  was  Martin  who  spoke  to  my  sub- 
conscious self,  and  my  subconscious  self  said  to  my 
conscious  self  'Take  a  pencil  and  write.'  I  know  that 
is  so." 

Once  again  Jessie  had  to  anchor  herself  against 
this  current  running  out  to  sea.  There  was  Archie 
sitting  opposite  her,  large  and  brown  and  hungry, 
talking  of  things  which  were  altogether  fantastic, 
unless  they  were  dangerous.     And  somehow  they 


156         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

were  not  either  fantastic  or  dangerous  to  him,  they 
were  as  ordinary  as  the  cherry  jam  he  was  so  pro- 
fusely eating.  She  had  suddenly  come  on  a  great 
undiscovered  tract  of  country. 

"But  it's  all  nonsense,"  she  said.  "I  don't  know 
about  what  you  say  Martin  wrote  for  you,  and  I 
don't  want  to  know.  I  dislike  it  all.  I'm  too  ordi- 
nary, I  suppose,  my — my  subconscious  self  doesn't 
act,  as  you  say.  But  what  proof  is  there  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  the  subconscious  self?  Why  should 
I  suppose  that  there  is  anything  of  the  sort?  I  have 
no  reason  to  suppose  it." 

Archie  laughed. 

"My  dear  Jessie,"  he  said,  "you  are  arguing  not 
with  me  but  with  yourself.  You  have  an  uneasy 
conviction  that  I  am  right." 

"Not  a  bit,"  she  said.    "I  want  a  proof." 

Archie  rubbed  his  hand  over  his  head. 

"I  wonder  how  I  can  give  it  you  most  easily,"  he 
said.  "Of  course  there  are  lots  of  ways,  though  it 
is  quite  a  long  time  since  I  have  practised  any  of 
them." 

He  thought  for  a  moment. 

"Well,  here's  one,"  he  said.  "The  subconscious 
self,  to  talk  more  nonsense,  as  you  say,  is  practically 
unlimited  by  the  material  laws  of  the  world.  It  is 
a  sort  of  X-ray,  a  sort  of  wireless  ...  I  can  set  my 
subconscious  self  to  work,  and  I  will  to  prove  its 
existence  to  you." 

His  voice  sank  a  little,  and  Jessie  saw  that  his 
eyes  were  fixed  on  a  bright  speck  of  sunlight  that 
gleamed  on  the  tablecloth.  A  sudden  ridiculous 
terror  seized  her. 

"Don't,  Archie,"  she  said.     "It's  such  nonsense." 

"It  isn't  nonsense,"  said  he  quietly,  "and  you 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  157 

mustn't  be  such  a  baby.  There's  nothing  to  be 
frightened  at." 

As  he  spoke  he  took  his  eyes  off  the  bright  speck 
at  which  he  had  been  staring,  and  looked  at  her  with 
his  blue  dancing  glance. 

''What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  said. 

"Whatever  you  like.  Let  me  look  at  that  bright 
spot  there,  while  you  sit  quiet,  for  two  minutes,  and 
I'll  tell  you  anything  you  choose.  Think  of  some- 
thing, anything  will  do,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  you're 
thinking  about." 

"Oh,  just  thought-reading,"  said  she. 

"Just  thought-reading!  But  what  is  thought- 
reading?  If  you  can  remember  what  you  thought 
about  when  you  went  up  to  your  bedroom  to  sleep 
after  lunch  to-day,  for  instance,  I'll  tell  you  that. 
Or  there  is  Harry  writing  his  history  lecture  for 
next  term  at  this  moment.  I'll  tell  you  the  words 
he  is  writing.  At  least  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to. 
But  I'm  out  of  practise.  I  have  not  cultivated  the 
particular  mood  for  years.  But  I  had  it  when  I  was 
a  child,  and  I  expect  I  can  get  back  into  it." 

Jessie  felt  an  extreme  curiosity  about  this.  She 
had,  even  as  Archie  had  said,  an  uneasy  conviction 
that  he  was  right,  and  for  her  peace  of  mind  she 
longed  to  have  that  conviction  shattered.  In  her 
reasonable  self  she  did  not  believe  that  Archie  could 
possibly  tell  her  what  Harry  was  writing,  but  behind 
that  reasonable  self  sat  something  unreasonable 
which  wanted  to  be  convinced  that  this  was  all 
nonsense. 

"But  you  won't  have  a  fit  or  anything,  v/ill  you?" 
she  asked. 

"No.  Pour  boiling  tea  over  me  if  I  do,  and  I  shall 
come  to  myself." 


158  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

*'But  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I'm  just  going  to  look  at  something  bright.  That 
spot  of  sun  on  the  table-cloth  will  do.  Then  I  shall 
just  submerge,  like  a  submarine,  and  tell  you  what 
Harry  is  writing  at  this  moment,  if  that  is  the  test 
you  select.  What  fun  it  all  is!  I  haven't  done  it,  as 
I  said,  for  ever  so  long.  Oh,  take  a  bit  of  paper, 
and  write  down  what  I  say.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall 
be  able  to  remember  it." 

Again  his  voice  sank,  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the 
bright  spot  he  had  indicated,  and  Jessie  watching 
him  pencil  and  paper  in  hand,  saw  an  extraordinary 
change  come  over  his  face.  For  a  few  seconds  it  got 
troubled,  and  his  eyes  stared  painfully,  while  his 
breath  came  quickly  in  and  out  of  his  nostrils.  Then 
he  grew  quite  quiet  again,  his  mouth  smiled  and  he 
spoke,  very  slowly  as  if  the  words  were  dictated  by 
a  writer. 

"It  is  hopeless  to  try  to  comprehend  in  the  whole," 
he  said,  "the  splendour  of  that  unique  age.  We  can 
only  think  of  it  in  fragments.  One  afternoon  there 
was  a  new  play  by  Sophocles,  another  day  Pericles 
made  the  funeral  oration  for  the  fallen :  on  another 
the  great  Propylaea  to  the  Acropolis  were  finished; 
Socrates  talked  in  the  market  place,  or  supped  with 
Alcibiades.  In  the  space  of  a  few  years  all  those 
things  happened,  and  as  yet  more  than  twenty  cen- 
turies have  failed  to  grasp  their  full  significance. 
And  in  this  my  last  lecture  to  you " 

Archie  rubbed  his  eyes  and  sat  up. 

"He  has  finished  for  the  present,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  room  just  above  them, 
where  they  sat  in  the  garden,  and  Harry  looked  out. 

"Any  tea  left?"  he  said. 

Archie  looked   up. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  159 

"Hallo,  Harry,"  he  said.  *'I  thought  you  were 
going  to  finish  your  lecture  and  not  appear  till  din^ 
ner." 

"I  was,  but  I  think  I'll  finish  it  up  to-morrow.'* 

''Bring  it  down  and  read  us  as  far  as  you've  got," 
said  Archie.    "Jessie  won't  mind." 

"All  right.  It  got  a  little  purplish  at  the  end,  and 
that's  why  I  stopped.    I  hate  purples." 

He  moved  away  from  the  window,  and  Archie 
spoke  to  Jessie. 

"Did  I  say  anything?"  he  asked. 

"Yes;  I've  got  it  all  down." 

Archie  jumped  up. 

"Now  you'll  see,"  he  said.  "You  won't  sauce  me 
again  in — in  the  vicious  pride  of  your  youth,  as  Mr. 
Venus  remarked.    I'm  sure  I  got  through  that  time." 

It  was  the  knowledgd  that  he  had  indeed  "got 
through"  that  Jessie  took  up  to  bed  with  her  that 
night.  Word  for  word  Harry  had  read  out  at  the 
end  of  his  lecture  precisely  the  sentences  that  Archie 
in  that  queer  dreamy  state  had  dictated  to  her,  just 
before  Harry  had  looked  out  of  the  window  and 
asked  if  there  was  any  tea  left.  There  was  no  room 
for  doubt:  even  as  Archie  had  said  some  piece  of 
his  mind  had  been  able  to  divine  exactly  what  Harry 
was  writing  at  that  moment.  In  his  conscious  state 
he  could  not  know  what  that  was,  but  according  to 
his  own  account  certain  people,  of  whom  he  was  one, 
were  able  to  direct  not  only  their  conscious  selves 
but  also  the  subconscious  self  that  lay  below.  It,  so 
he  asserted,  was  practically  unlimited  by  material 
laws:  it  could  perceive  what  was  happening  at  a 
distance,  at  a  spot  invisible  to  it,  and  it  could  pene- 
trate as  by  some  X-ray  process  into  other  minds. 
For  its  free  action  (in  his  case  at  any  rate)  the  con- 


160         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

scious  self  had  to  be  obliterated:  by  looking  at  that 
bright  spot  on  the  tablecloth  he  had  been  able  to  put 
it  to  sleep,  to  hypnotise  it,  thus  allowing  the  sub- 
conscious self  to  pass  the  portals  where  normally  the 
conscious  self  kept  guard,  and  do  its  errand. 

So  far  there  was  nothing  to  disquiet  her  or  make 
her  uncomfortable.  It  was,  as  she  had  said,  ''just 
thought-reading,"  an  example  of  a  purely  natural 
law,  which,  however  dimly  understood,  was  fully 
admitted  by  scientific  investigators.  No  one  except 
the  most  hide-bound  of  pedants  questioned  the  ex- 
istence of  the  subconscious  self,  and  if  here  was  an 
example  of  an  abnormal  development  of  it,  still 
there  was  nothing  to  fight  shy  of  .  .  . 

But  Archie  had  gone  far  beyond  that  in  his  ex- 
position of  the  powers  of  the  subconscious  self,  and 
it  was  that  which  caused  her  a  very  vivid  disquiet. 
Through  the  subconscious  self,  in  those  who  had  the 
gift  of  releasing  it,  of  allowing  its  activities,  could 
come,  so  he  believed,  communications  from  the  in- 
dividual consciousnesses  which  had  passed  out  of  the 
material  world.  Even  as  the  subconscious  self  could 
get  into  touch  with  the  thoughts  of  living  people 
(as  she  had  seen  for  herself  that  afternoon)  so  also 
could  it  get  into  touch  with  the  thoughts  of  the 
dead.  It  was  thus,  so  Archie  announced,  that  when 
he  was  a  mere  child,  and  knew  nothing  whatever 
of  conscious  and  subconscious  selves,  Martin,  the 
brother  whom  he  had  never  heard  of,  used  his  hand 
to  write  with,  as  if  it  was  his  own,  and  with  it  wrote 
in  the  handwriting  which  had  been  his.  Jessie  fully 
believed  in  the  survival  of  personality,  to  her  the 
so-called  dead  had  but  passed  on  to  a  further  and 
higher  plane  of  existence,  but  there  was  to  her 
something  inexplicably  repugnant  in  the  notion  that 


ACROSS  THE  STREAJVI  161 

they  could  come  back,  and  speak  or  write  to  tliose 
who  still  lived  on  this  plane  of  existence. 

Jessie  lingered  late  by  her  window,  overlooking  the 
bay  trying  to  disentangle  and  lay  bare  the  roots  of 
her  repugnance.  It  was  late:  below  in  the  garden 
she  could  perceive  the  grey  lines  of  Archie's  ham- 
mock swung  between  the  acacia  and  the  pines,  and 
Archie  lying  there  like  a  chrysalis.  He  was  just  like 
that,  she  thought:  most  of  the  world  were  just  cater- 
pillars eating  their  way  through  the  allotted  span  of 
their  years,  but  Archie  was  a  stage  more  advanced 
than  anybody  she  had  ever  known.  This  world  and 
the  next  were  one  to  him,  not  by  any  spiritual  in- 
sight, but  from  that  instinctive  conviction  that  there 
was  really  no  difference  between  the  living  and  the 
so-called  dead.  It  was  not  by  any  enlightenment, 
through  any  stress  of  prayer  and  aspiration  that  he 
had  arrived  at  that.  He  had  been  gifted  with  it  as 
a  child:  he  was  a  medium,  who  by  some  special  gift 
could  talk  to  a  brother  who  had  died  long  years  ago, 
with  just  the  same  naturalness  as  he  talked  to  her. 
If  he  died  to-night,  he  would  find  nothing  strange 
about  it:  he  would  but  burst  his  chrysalis,  hang  for 
a  moment,  weak  and  fluttering,  and  then  expand  his 
wings.  But  to  most  people  death  was  an  awful 
affair.  They  were  caterpillars:  they  had  to  learn 
the  intermediate  stage  which  he  was  already  familiar 
with.  And  yet  the  fact  that  he  was  a  stage  more 
advanced  coupled  with  it  a  sort  of  helplessness  for 
him.  There  he  lay  in  his  cocoon;  any  evil  thing 
might  attack  him  .  .  . 

Jessie  shook  herself,  mind  and  body;  she  was  be- 
ing fantastic  in  her  fears  and  her  misgivings,  and 
with  set  purpose  she  forced  herself  to  drink  in,  be 
penetrated  by,  the  assured  serenity  of  the  materia^ 


162         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

world  that  lay  spread  before  her.  Above  wheeled 
the  stars  in  the  silent  sky,  and  on  the  silent  sea  shone 
the  constellations  from  the  fishing-boats.  The  trees 
stood  motionless  in  the  holy  summer-hushed  night 
beneath  while,  though  all  seemed  to  sleep,  the  great 
renewing  forces  of  the  world  were  ripening  the  olives 
and  enriching  the  twisted  buds  that  would  flower  in 
fresh  harvest  of  azure  on  the  morning  glory  when 
the  sun  warmed  them.  There  was  nothing  to  dis- 
turb her :  she  could  let  her  soul  lie  open  to  the  night 
and  think  out  the  cause  for  her  disquietude. 

She  hated  the  idea  of  commerce  between  the  living 
and  the  dead ;  there  was  the  root  of  it.  The  strange- 
ness of  the  idea  made  it  seem  unnatural.  Yet  where, 
if  she  examined  it  more  closely,  was  the  unnatural- 
ness?  Why  should  not  loving  souls  who  had  passed 
that  tiny  rivulet  called  Death  into  the  fuller  life 
beyond  be  allowed  to  call  from  the  other  side  to 
those  they  love?  Was  there  not  something  exquisite, 
something  supremely  tender  in  the  thought  that 
Martin,  who  had  been  but  little  more  than  a  child 
when  he  died  in  that  Swiss  chalet,  should  tell  Archie 
about  the  cache  he  had  made  under  the  pine-tree? 
It  was  a  childish  communication,  it  brought  no  mes- 
sage of  consolation  or  encouragement,  but  it  was  just 
what  Martin,  had  he  been  alive  on  this  side  of 
Death,  might  have  told  Archie.  Besides  who  knew 
that  he  did  not  give  that  as  a  test,  as  a  proof  of  his 
identity,  for  surely  nothing  could  have  been  de- 
vised so  convincing?  And  if  God  willed  that  the 
dead  should  be  able  under  certain  circumstances  to 
speak  from  the  sunlit  beyond  to  those  who  still 
moved  among  material  shadows,  who  was  she,  Jessie, 
to  question  so  wonderful  an  ordinance?  And  if  he 
could  speak  like  that  to  a  young  and  innocent  child. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  163 

why  should  he  not  continue  to  speak  to  his  brother 
when  he  gi^ew  up? 

She  looked  elsewhere  for  the  grounds  of  her  re- 
pugnance, and  for  a  moment  thought  she  had  found 
them.  For  she  had  once  been  to  a  seance,  at  the 
house  of  a  professional  medium,  and  that  after- 
noon still  was  vivid  and  degrading  in  her  memory. 
They  had  all  sat  round  a  table  in  a  darkened  room 
while  the  medium  went  into  trance,  and  instantly 
ridiculous  knockings  and  melodies  from  a  musical- 
box  began  to  resound  in  the  gloom.  These  were 
supposed  to  be  played  by  spirits  called  Durward 
and  Felisy,  who,  for  some  absolutely  unconjecture- 
able  reason,  liked  spending  the  afternoon  in  these 
puerile  idiocies.  Meantime  the  medium  breathed 
heavily,  which  was  the  only  evidence  that  he  was  in 
trance  at  all,  and  after  a  while  said:  "Here's  the 
dear  Cardinal,"  in  a  husky  voice,  and  his  niece  who 
sat  next  him  informed  the  circle  that  this  was  Car- 
dinal Newman  who  like  Durward  and  Felisy  could 
find  nothing  better  to  do  on  the  other  side  than  at- 
tend these  awful  sittings,  for  he  always  came  when 
you  paid  your  guinea  to  the  medium  and  sat  in  the 
dark.  To  encourage  him  they  lifted  up  their  voices, 
at  the  suggestion  of  the  medium's  niece,  and  sang 
"Lead,  Kindly  Light,"  which  gratified  him  so  much 
that  he  joined  in  singing  the  second  verse  and  sang 
his  own  hymn  to  the  tune  given  in  Hymns  Ancient 
and  Modern.  Then  when  the  hymn  was  over  he 
made  some  moral  reflections  and  blessed  them  in 
Latin.  Then  there  came  materialisations;  the  head 
and  shoulders  of  Durward  appeared  in  the  middle  of 
the  table.  He  was  dresser]  in  white  and  hud  a  large 
black  beard,  and  round  his  ear  the  wire  with  which 
the  beard   was  attached  to  his  face  was  clearly 


164         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

visible.  During  this  the  circle  was  warned  to  keep 
their  hands  touching  all  around  the  table,  for  if 
any  one  made  a  break,  the  consequences  to  the  me- 
dium might  be  very  serious,  since  the  spirit  had 
built  itself  up  from  material  derived  from  the  me- 
dium and  the  "electric  fluid"  contributed  by  the 
sitters.  So,  if  the  electric  fluid  was  withdrawn  the 
material  would  not  be  able  to  get  back  into  the 
medium  who  would  completely  collapse  and  pos- 
sibly die,  though  whether  Durward  would  thereupon 
again  become  a  visible  and  permanent  dweller  on 
this  planet  was  not  explained.  By  this  time  Jessie 
had  been  so  convinced  of  the  wicked  and  profane 
fraudulence  of  all  these  proceedings  that  she  fur- 
tively withdrew  one  of  her  hands,  and  thus  cut  off 
the  electric  fluid  altogether.  But  Durward  didn't 
mind  a  bit  but  continued  to  t^ll  them  about  the  joys 
of  Paradise,  which  according  to  his  account  must 
have  been  Uke  the  Crystal  Palace  stuck  in  the 
middle  of  the  Botanical  Gardens.  And  when  he  had 
regaled  them  enough,  he  withdrew  in  the  direction 
where  the  medium  sat,  took  off  his  beard  and  be- 
came Felisy  with  a  veil  and  an  alto  voice.  Surely 
all  this  was  enough  to  make  one  despair  and  con- 
temn the  whole  idea  of  intercourse  with  spirits. 

But  Jessie  suddenly  became  aware  of  a  basic  illog- 
icality in  her  position.  It  was  not  intercourse  with 
spirits  she  despised,  but  those  despicable  swindlers 
who  with  the  aid  of  false  beards  and  musical  boxes 
pretended  that  they  could  materialise  and  cause 
communication  with  spirits.  She  did  not  deride  the 
memory  of  that  afternoon  because  the  spirits  of 
Cardinal  Newman  and  Durward  and  Felisy  had 
moved  among  them,  but  because  they  hadn't.  It 
was  no  use  accounting  for  her  repugnance  towards 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  165 

genuine  intercourse  with  spirits  by  her  repugnance 
towards  quacks  and  charlatans.  The  whole  history 
of  spiritualism  teemed  with  these  undesirable  gentry 
and  these  faked  phenomena,  but  they  had  no  more 
connection  with  Archie  and  his  communications 
from  his  brother,  than  had  a  forged  bank-note  with 
the  credit  of  the  Bank  of  England.  She  found  she 
did  believe  that  the  knowledge,  say,  of  the  cache 
beneath  the  pine-tree  came  to  Archie  from  other 
than  normal  human  sources.  It  was  known  to  no 
living  being  in  the  world,  so  far  as  she  could  tell, 
and  if  she  looked  for  an  explanation  she  must  search 
for  it  in  the  supposition  that  the  knowledge  came  to 
him  from  a  living  intelligence  from  beyond  the  veil. 
She  intensely  disliked  being  forced  to  that  conclu- 
sion, and  now  she  knew  why.  It  was  for  the  reason 
she  had  suggested  to  him  this  afternoon. 

These  things  came  from  those  regions,  those  con- 
ditions of  existence,  into  which  people  passed  when 
they  died.  But  in  those  regions  there  existed  not 
only  the  souls  of  the  dead  who  lived  in  an  environ- 
ment and  under  conditions  which  we  could  not 
ever  so  faintly  conjecture,  but  other  spirits,  some 
good,  some  evil.  Every  good  impulse  that  came 
into  the  hearts  of  men  came  from  over  there;  so 
too  did  every  evil  impulse  that  would  blight,  if  it 
could,  the  garden  of  God.  And  who  knew  whether 
the  man  who  by  that  strange  faculty  which  Archie 
possessed  of  opening  the  doors  of  his  subliminal 
self,  through  which,  as  he  averred,  these  messages 
came,  might  not  open  them  to  other  and  evil  things? 
If  the  idea  of  possession  by  evil  spirits  was  true 
(and  certainly  it  was  not  more  fantastically  strange 
than  such  phenomena  as  Archie  could  produce) 
would  it  not  be  thus  and  in  no  other  way  that  the 


166  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

evil  possession  would  enter?  Yet  in  childhood 
Archie  had  in  ignorance  and  in  white  defenceless- 
ness  opened  more  than  once  the  door  of  his  soul, 
and  no  harm  surely  had  come  to  him.  Was  she 
being  unreasonable,  full  of  fear  where  no  fear  was, 
twittering  with  groundless  and  superstitious  fancies? 
There  was  yet  another  side  to  the  question.  If 
the  spirits  of  the  dead  could  indeed  return,  and 
speak  of  what  they  knew,  was  it  not  worth  while 
running  some  risk  on  the  chance  of  the  wonders 
they  might  tell  of  the  existence  which  now  was 
theirs?  Whatever  else  might  be  of  interest  in  hu- 
man life,  supreme  over  all  was  any  hint  or  frag- 
ment of  information  about  the  timeless  and  ever- 
lasting  day  that  lay  beyond  the  dawnings  and  set- 
tings of  the  sun.  Nay,  more:  if  to  any  was  given 
this  wonderful  gift  by  means  of  which  voices  could 
reach  him  from  beyond  the  veil,  was  it  not  his  duty 
to  use  this  endowment  for  the  enlightenment  and 
consolation  of  those  who  mourned  and  who  sat  in 
darkness?  God  would  never  have  bestowed  so 
spiritual  a  gift  on  any,  if  He  did  not  mean  it  to  be 
used.  Faith  in  Christianity  taught  that  the  dead 
were  alive  in  a  wider  sense  than  ever  they  had  been 
here;  why  then  should  it  be  forbidden,  to  those  who 
had  this  amazing  gift,  of  speaking  with  them,  of 
learning  about  their  life?  The  Roman  Church  had 
fulminated  its  anathemas  on  Galileo,  a  thing  scarce- 
ly credible  to  a  more  enlightened  age;  it  was  more 
than  possible  that  its  pronouncements  against  this 
intercourse  with  the  dead  was  but  an  instance  the 
more  of  a  similar  cowardice  and  narrowness.  Who 
could  doubt  that  a  man  of  science  three  hundred 
years  ago  would  have  been  buried  as  a  dabbler  in 
diabolism   and  witchcraft,   if  he  had  exhibited   a 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  167 

manifestation  of  wireless  telegraphy  or  an  X-ray 
photograph?  But  nowadays  there  was  not  a  living 
being  who  did  not  rank  such  as  the  discoveries  of  a 
natural  law.  The  sorcery  of  one  age  was  the  science 
of  the  next. 

Jessie  propounded  this  to  herself,  and  her  reason 
could  not  find  a  flaw  in  it.  But  something  that  sat 
behind  her  reason,  superstition  it  might  be,  or  in- 
stinct, or  spiritual  perception  refused  to  accept  the 
conclusion.  Like  a  child  afraid  of  the  dark  it 
trembled  and  hung  back,  and  no  amount  of  logical 
assurance  from  its  nurse,  no  amount  of  demonstra- 
tion that  the  room  when  dark  contained  only  the 
familiar  things  which  the  light  made  manifest,  could 
reassure  it.  It  didn't  like  the  dark:  nothing  could 
persuade  it  that  danger  did  not  lurk  in  black- 
ness. .  .  . 

Well,  it  was  no  use  going  over  all  the  ground 
again,  she  knew  it  thoroughly  now.  Reason  made 
no  headway  against  instinct,  or  instinct  against 
reason,  and  she  swept  the  matter  from  her  mind, 
and  tried  to  calm  a  certain  intimate  agitation  that 
trembled  there,  by  letting  her  eyes  pour  into  her 
soul  the  superb  serenity  of  the  Italian  night.  The 
moon  had  risen  and  spread  across  the  bay  a  silver 
path  to  the  edge  of  the  world,  and  in  the  sky  the 
wheeling  innumerable  worlds  kept  sentinel  over  the 
earth.  Never  had  she  looked  on  a  stillness  more 
peaceful  and  more  steadfast.  Not  a  breeze  stirred 
in  the  cypresses,  but  in  the  thickets  of  ilex  below 
the  Love  that  moved  the  sun  and  the  other  stars 
thrilled  in  the  hearts  of  innumerable  nightingales. 
That  Love  permeated  everywhere,  the  world  was 
soaked  in  its  peace.  .  .  . 

And  just  then  over  the  hills  to  the  north,  there 


168  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

flickered  a  flash  of  lightning  from  some  storm  very- 
far  away.  Long  afterwards  and  scarcely  audible 
came  a  mufiled  murmur  of  thunder. 

Jessie  came  downstairs  next  morning  before  either 
of  the  two  young  men  were  astir,  and  indeed  on 
going  into  the  garden  she  found  Archie  still  serenely 
slumbering  in  his  hammock  in  spite  of  the  sun  that 
filtered  through  the  pine-tree  onto  his  brown  face 
and  curly  head.  But  perhaps  some  intangible  shaft 
from  her  pierced  down  into  the  gulfs  of  sleep,  for 
immediately  he  sat  up,  flushed  with  slumber  like  a 
child,  but  fresh  and  bright-eyed  from  his  night  in 
the  open  air. 

"Hallo,  Jess,"  he  said.  "You  down  already?  I 
suppose  I'd  better  get  up.  Is  it  shocking  for  a  young 
lady  to  see  a  young  gentleman's  bare  feet  and  his 
pyjamas?  If  so,  you  must  shut  your  eyes.  Now 
you're  going  to  see  them.    Don't  scream." 

"I  shall,"  said  Jessie.  "You  always  wear  patent- 
leather  boots  and  a  fur  coat  when  we  bathe." 

"Yes,  that  is  so.  But  bear  it  for  once.  Lord,  what 
a  morning!" 

He  threw  off  his  blanket,  and  dangled  his  legs 
over  the  side  of  the  hammock,  and  instantly  lit  a 
cigarette. 

"Archie,  why  do  you  smoke  before  breakfast?" 
she  asked. 

"Because  it  makes  me  feel  so  jolly  dizzy.  Ah, 
you  can't  guess  how  good  a  cigarette  tastes  when 
you  have  had  nothing  but  your  tongue  and  your 
teeth  in  your  mouth  for  eight  or  nine  hours.  Hullo ! 
Here's  the  post.  English  papers?  Who  cares  for 
what  happens  in  England?  No  letters  for  me,  two 
for  Harry  and  one  for  you.  Goodbye,  I  shan't  wash 
much  because  I  shall  bathe  all  the  morning." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  169 

Jessie's  letter  proved  to  be  from  Helena,  and  its 
contents  instantly  absorbed  her  whole  attention. 
Colonel  Vautier,  her  father  and  Lady  Tintagel's 
first  cousin,  had  gone  out  to  Egypt  over  some  gov- 
ernment irrigation  work,  and  instead  of  coming  back 
in  June,  would  be  detained  out  there  till  September. 
In  consequence  Lady  Tintagel  hoped  that  the  two 
girls  would  live  with  her  instead  of  going  back  to 
their  father's  house  till  his  return.  Helena's  com- 
ment on  this  was  enthusiastic,  and  also  very  char- 
acteristic. 

"Darling  Jessie,"  she  said,  after  the  statement  of 
this  proposal,  "I  do  hope  you'll  say  'yes.'  Cousin 
Marion  encloses  a  note  for  you,  so  you'll  see  how 
much  she  wants  us  to,  and  Uncle  Jack — I've  begun 
to  call  him  Uncle  Jack,  though  he  isn't  an  uncle  at 
all, — gave  quite  a  pleased  sort  of  grunt  when  it  was 
mentioned,  which  means  that  he  approves.  So  don't 
be  independent,  and  say  you  would  sooner  go  back 
to  Oakland  Crescent,  because  I've  simply  set  my 
heart  on  stopping  here.  It's  horrible  at  home  in  the 
summer  with  the  sun  blazing  into  those  little  tiny 
rooms  and  the  smell  of  greens  flooding  the  house. 
And  it  really  would  be  a  kindness  to  Cousin  Mar- 
ion ;  she  says  so  herself,  as  you'll  find  when  you  read 
her  note.  And  besides  there's  another  reason  which 
I  know  you  can  guess.  ...  In  fact  I  think  it's  our 
duty  to  come,  and  when  your  duty  takes  the  form  of 
anything  so  pleasant  as  this,  there  really  is  not  the 
slightest  reason  for  neglecting  it.  And  as  I'm  the 
youngest,  I  feel  that  you  should  do  as  I  want.  Be- 
sides it's  the  greatest  fun  here.  There  are  no  end 
of  dances  and  parties  and  dinners,  and^  there  are 
horses  to  ride  and  motor-cars.  I'm  having  the  love- 
liest time,  so  it  will  be  very  selfish  of  you  if  you 


170  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

want  to  go  home.    But  I  know  you  will  say  'yes/  " 

A  charming  enclosure  from  Lady  Tintagel  accom- 
panied this. 

"I  so  much  hope  that  you  and  Helena  will  stop 
with  us.  You  must  think  of  it  as  a  great  kindness 
to  me,  for  it  will  be  the  utmost  comfort  to  me,  now 
that  both  my  girls  are  married,  to  have  you  two 
with  me  for  the  rest  of  the  season.  I  spoke  to  Archie 
about  it  while  we  were  at  Silorno,  so  ask  him 
whether  he  approves  or  not.  I  hope  all  goes  well 
with  you.  Is  Archie  quite  black  yet  from  bathing? 
Send  me  a  line  as  soon  as  you  have  thought  it  over. 
Helena  is  having  the  greatest  success  in  town ;  every- 
one thinks  her  charming,  and  admires  her  enor- 
mously." 

Jessie  read  this  over  as  she  waited  for  Archie  to 
rejoin  her  at  breakfast.  There  was  every  reason  for 
accepting  so  cordial  an  invitation  and  it  would  give 
pleasure  to  Helena,  to  Cousin  Marion,  and  appar- 
ently also  to  Archie.  She  knew  she  would  have  to 
consent:  there  was  no  cause  that  could  be  spoken 
about  which  she  could  possibly  adduce  for  refusing. 
A  week  ago  that  cause  did  not  exist,  but  now  she 
wondered  how  she  could  bear  to  see  Helena  and 
Archie  in  the  close  companionship  which  this  would 
imply,  and  watch  his  feeling  for  her  expanding  from 
the  bud  into  the  flower.  If  she  had  thought  that 
Helena  loved  him  it  would  all  be  different.  But  she 
felt  certain  that  Helena  did  not.  There  for  her  was 
the  poignancy  of  it.  .  .  . 

In  a  manner  that  she  could  not  explain  Jessie 
knew  that  she  knew  the  tokens  by  which  love  be- 
trays its  existence.  She,  barely  yet  twenty-two,  had 
somewhere  stored  in  her  soul  the  language  of  love, 
which  it  speaks  even  when  it  thinks  it  is  dumb, 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  171 

talking  in  its  sleep,  it  may  be.  She  had  seen  in  the 
last  week  of  Helena's  sojourn  here  that  Archie 
talked  to  her  like  that.  'There  was  neither  speech 
nor  language":  he  said  nothing  of  which  the  words 
betrayed  his  dawning  passion,  but  his  love  spoke 
in  his  silence,  even  as  the  rosy  clouds  high  above  the 
earth  herald  the  dawn.  It  was  her  own  knowledge 
that  enlightened  her:  she  too  knew  the  silent  lan- 
guage, and  knew  that  Archie  conversed  in  it,  though 
no  word  came,  when  he  talked  to  Helena.  Some- 
thing kindled  behind  his  eye,  some  secret  alertness 
possessed  him.  .  .  .  But  there  was  the  defence- 
lessness  and  the  blindness  of  love,  for  when  Helena 
answered  him  she  but  pretended  to  talk  the  same 
tongue,  and  Jessie,  knowing  it,  knew  that  she  spoke 
a  mere  paltry  gibberish.  It  sounded  the  same,  or  it 
looked  the  same,  but  it  was  nonsense,  it  was  not 
authentic.  Yet  Archie  never  talked  in  the  secret 
tongue  to  Jessie,  and  in  consequence  she  had  never 
answered  him  in  it.  To-day  it  seemed  her  native 
tongue  when  she  talked  to  him,  and  all  she  said 
must  needs  be  translated  out  of  that  into  the  lan- 
guage of  those  who  were  friends,  dear  friends,  but  no 
more  than  friends. 

All  this  was  instantaneous:  she  seemed  to  read 
it  between  the  lines  of  Helena's  letter.  She  recalled 
too,  between  the  lines,  the  tokens  that  she  knew. 
Archie  would  look  at  Harry,  as  they  sat  at  dinner, 
then  at  his  mother,  then  at  her,  in  order  that  in  due 
time  he  might  look  at  Helena.  And  when  he  spoke 
to  any  of  them,  they  never  got  more  than  one  ear 
and  an  inattentive  mind  from  him.  The  other  ear 
and  the  attention  was  always  with  Helena.  Helena 
knew  that  quite  well:  no  woman  or  girl  could  fail 
to  know  it,  and  by  way  of  response  she  had  made 


172         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

this  Scythian  retreat  to  England.  No  doubt  that 
was  clever  of  her,  but  in  Jessie's  opinion  clever 
people  are  found  out  even  sooner  than  stupid  ones. 
The  only  unconstruable  folk  are  the  wise  ones,  and 
wisdom  has  very  little  to  do  with  cleverness.  Wis- 
dom is  perhaps  the  cleverness  of  the  soul  that  looks 
down  with  pity  on  the  manoeuvres  of  the  mind. 

Archie  made  his  absurd  entry.  He  had  a  dress- 
ing-gown on,  perhaps  some  sort  of  abbreviated  bath- 
ing-dress, and  canvas-shoes. 

''I  didn't  dress,"  he  said,  ''for  where's  the  use  of 
dressing  if  you  are  going  to  undress  again  almost 
immediately?" 

"Aren't  you  going  to  work  this  morning?"  asked 
Jessie. 

"No.  This  one  day,  as  Mr.  Wordsworth  said, 
we'll  give  to  idleness.  I'm  going  to  bathe  all  the 
morning  instead  of  half  the  morning.  I  want  a  holi- 
day. I  think  I'm  overworked.  What's  happening  in 
that  foolish  England,  if  you've  read  the  papers?" 

"I  haven't,"  said  she. 

Suddenly  his  face  changed:  he  began  to  talk  the 
secret  language,  which  Jessie  understood  and  Helena 
counterfeited. 

"And  what  other  news?"  he  asked.  "You  had  a 
letter  from  somebody." 

Jessie  pretended  not  to  understand  what  she 
knew  so  well. 

"Yes,  I  did  have  a  letter,"  she  said,  determined 
that  Archie  should  be  more  direct  than  this. 

"From  Helena  or  mother?"  he  said  carelessly.  "I 
haven't  heard  from  either  of  them,  except  that 
telegram  to  say  they  had  got  home  safely." 

He  was  talking  the  secret  language  still ;  the  very 
carelessness  of  his  tone  betrayed  it. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  173 

"Yes,  I  heard  from  them  both,"  she  said.  "The 
letter  was  from  Helena,  and  there  was  an  enclosure 
from  Cousin  Marion." 

Archie  said  nothmg  in  answer  to  this,  but  it 
seemed  to  the  girl  that  his  silence  was  just  as  elo- 
quent in  the  language  without  words.  Eventually 
he  remarked  that  Harry  was  very  late,  and  Jessie 
knew  that  he  had  beaten  her.  He  always  did,  just 
because  he  had  nothing  with  regard  to  her  at  stake. 

"Archie,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  what  they 
have  written  to  me,"  she  said. 

"Talk  away,"  said  Archie.  "I  say,  what  good  little 
fishes." 

Jessie  was  not  proposing  to  yield  like  that.  If 
he,  in  the  code  of  the  secret  language,  preferred  an 
indifference  to  what  he  was  longing  to  hear,  she 
would  be  indifferent  too. 

To  Archie's  intense  irritation  she  continued  to 
talk  about  little  fishes,  in  a  tone  of  great  interest, 
till  Harry's  entrance.  She  agTeed  they  were  very 
good;  probably  they  were  fresh  sardines  caught  last 
night  by  the  fishers.  Or  were  they  .  .  .  and  she 
could  not  remember  the  Italian  name  of  the  other 
little  fish  which  were  so  like  sardines. 

Archie's  serene  brow  clouded,  and  he  but  grunted 
a  greeting  to  Harry.  And  next  moment  her  heart 
smote  her.  She  knew  how  easily  Archie  could  put 
the  sun  out  for  her  without  meaning  to  do  it,  but 
she  had,  out  of  a  sort  of  piqued  femininity,  inten- 
tionally done  the  same  for  hun.  She  felt  as  if  she 
had  spoiled  a  child's  pleasure :  he  was  so  like  a  child, 
but  lovers  were  made  of  child-stuff.  He  got  up  al- 
most immediately,  and  full  of  a  tender  penitence 
she  followed  him. 

One  behind  the  other  they  went  out  into  the 


174         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

garden,  where  Archie  in  a  superb  unconsciousness 
of  her  presence  became  instantly  absorbed  in  the 
despised  English  papers. 

"Archie!"  she  said. 

He  rustled  with  his  paper. 

"Oh,  er — what?"  he  answered. 

"I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about  Helena's  letter," 
she  said.  "Only  you  would  talk  about  sardines. 
Put  that  paper  down:  I  can't  talk  through  the 
paper." 

She  noticed  that  he  kept  his  finger  on  a  paragraph, 
and  she  would  have  betted  her  last  shilling  that  he 
had  no  idea  what  that  paragraph  was  about.  And 
though  a  moment  before  she  had  been  penitent,  now 
she  stiffened  herself  and  determined  that  he  should 
meet  her  more  gracefully  than  that. 

"I'm  sorry:  I'm  interrupting  you,"  she  said.  "I'll 
tell  you  some  other  time." 

Archie  suddenly  threw  the  paper  into  the  air. 

"Oh,  aren't  we  behaving  like  idiots?"  he  said.  "At 
heart  I  am,  and  so  are  you  really.  But  I'll  confess: 
I'm  just  longing  to  know  what  Helena  writes  about. 
But  aren't  you  an  idiot,  too?  I  shall  like  it  enor- 
mously if  you  say  you  are." 

"I  am  an  idiot,  too,"  said  the  girl.  "And  Cousin 
Marion  wants  Helena  and  me  to  live  with  her  till 
father  comes  home.  She  told  me  to  ask  you  if  you 
approved?" 

He  leaned  forward  to  her. 

"Ah  do,  Jessie,"  he  said.  "I  hope  you  will.  I 
can't  see  why  you  shouldn't.    Can  you?" 

She  looked  straight  into  the  eager  blue  eyes  that 
were  so  close  to  hers.  For  her  there  was  a  wealth 
of  frankness  and  friendliness,  but  the  light  in  them 
was  not  for  her,  and  she  knew  it. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  175 

"Helena  wants  to,"  she  said. 

"Does  that  mean  that  you  don't?"  he  asked.  "I'm 
sorry  if  that  is  so." 

She  got  up. 

"No,  it  doesn't  mean  that  a  bit,"  she  said.  "It's 
dehghtful  of  you  and  Cousin  Marion  to  want  us. 
Of  course  we'll  come." 

Archie  rose  too. 

"That's  perfectly  ripping  of  you,"  he  said.  "We 
shall  be  a  jolly  party,  we  four." 

Quite  suddenly  a  pause  fell,  very  awkwardly,  very 
constrainedly. 

"My  father  doesn't  appear  much,"  he  said  at 
length.  "That's  what  I  meant.  He  is  very  often 
in  the  country,  and — well,  we  don't  see  him  much." 

Archie  soon  took  himself  off  to  the  sea,  armed 
with  paper  and  pencils,  for  with  four  hours  in  front 
of  him  there  would  be  much  basking  to  be  done 
between  his  bathes.  Already  another  of  those  sea- 
sketches  was  beginning  to  take  shape  in  his  mind, 
and  he  found  that  there  was  no  hour  so  fruitful  in 
inspiration  as  when,  after  a  swim,  he  returned  to  this 
empty  sandy  beach  and  lay  spread  out  to  the  sun 
to  be  dried  and  browned  and  made  eager  for  an- 
other dip.  So,  to-day,  after  the  first  swim,  he  lay 
for  a  while  on  his  back  with  his  arms  across  his  face 
to  shield  his  eyes  from  the  glare,  and  opened  his 
brain,  so  to  speak,  to  let  the  sea-thoughts  invade  it. 
They  came  swarming  in  at  his  invitation,  and  pres- 
ently he  turned  over  and  propped  himself  on  his 
elbows  and  began  to  catch  them  and  pin  them  to  his 
paper.  The  rim  of  the  sea  with  its  seaweed  fringed 
rocks,  its  diaper  of  moving  light  in  the  shallow 
water,  the  shoals  of  little  fishes,  almost  invisible  one 
moment,  the  next,  as  they  turned,  becoming  a  shield 


176  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

of  silver  flakes,  were  all  ready  to  be  hammered  into 
sentences  and  yet  the  hammer  paused.  .  .  . 

Somehow  at  the  back  of  his  mind  was  a  topic 
that  inhibited  his  hand,  or  would  not  allow  the  con- 
nection between  hand  and  brain  to  be  made,  and  he 
thought  he  knew  what  this  was,  for  only  this  morn- 
ing he  had  heard  that  Helena  was  to  be  an  inmate 
of  their  house  in  London.  Yet  it  did  not  seem  to 
be  that  which  was  preventing  him,  and  he  won- 
dered whether  it  was  the  thought  of  his  father  and 
his  habitual  intoxication,  which  was  always  like  a 
black  background  at  home,  and  which  just  for  a 
moment  had  popped  out  into  his  conversation  with 
Jessie,  that  hindered  him.  But  that  again  did  not 
seem  a  sufiScient  cause  for  his  inability  to  start  the 
mechanism  which  translated  thought  into  language. 

And  then  he  became  aware  that  his  fingers  itched 
and  ached  to  write  with  a  compelling  force  which 
he  knew  well.  And  yet  only  yesterday  Martin  had 
said  that  he  should  not  come  to  him  again.  But 
the  quality  of  the  force  seemed  unmistakable,  and 
presently  he  yielded  to  that  which  he  really  had  not 
the  power  to  resist  and  wrote  as  his  hand  bade  him 
write. 

There  were  but  a  few  sentences  scribbled,  and 
then  his  pencil,  as  usually  happened  when  the  mes- 
sage was  complete,  gave  a  dash.  He  had  no  notion 
what  he  had  written,  and  when  it  was  finished  he 
read  it  through. 

"Archie,  I  have  come  through  this  once  more,"  it 
said,  "to  repeat  that  you  have  been  warned.  But 
I  can't  get  through  again — Martin." 

So  here  again  was  this  inexplicable  mention  of  a 
warning,  and  Archie's  conscious  mind  was  blank 
with  regard  to  any  such  warning.     But  the  repeti- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  177 

tion  of  it  did  not  long  occupy  him,  for  immediately 
he  found  that  the  inhibition  between  his  brain  and 
his  hand  was  gone,  and  sentence  after  sentence  of 
his  sea-sketch  flowed  through  his  fingers.  By  de- 
grees, but  not  till  a  couple  of  his  pages  were  full, 
did  the  inspiration  exhaust  itself,  and  then  he  lay 
back  on  the  sand  again  full  of  the  ecstasy  that  al- 
ways accompanies  the  completion  of  a  bit  of  work 
that  has  been  done  as  the  creator  meant  to  do  it. 
Bad  or  good,  it  has  fulfilled  his  intention. 

His  brain  brooded  over  that  for  a  little,  and  then 
slipped  back  to  the  incident  that  had  preceded  it. 
He  could  make  nothing  at  all  of  it,  and  determining 
to  dismiss  it  from  his  mind,  and  speak  of  it  to  no- 
body, he  tore  up  the  sheet  that  contained  the  mes- 
sage, buried  the  fragments  in  the  sand,  and  lay  back 
again  roasting  himself  in  the  sun.  Soon  that  de- 
lectable warmth  would  increase  on  his  bare  limbs, 
till  they  cried  out  for  the  cool  embraces  of  the  sea 
again,  and  he  would  fling  himself  into  it.  But  just 
for  a  little  longer  he  would  stew  and  stupefy  himself 
in  the  sun  and  with  half-closed  eyes  watch  the  vi- 
bration of  the  hot  air  over  the  beach,  and  listen  to 
the  hiss  of  the  ripples.  Except  for  them  the  morn- 
ing was  extremely  quiet,  the  sun  poured  down  over 
his  outspread  limbs,  the  sea  waited  for  him.  And 
as  he  lay  there  and  dozed,  the  memory  of  his  evil 
dream  went  across  his  brain  like  a  flash,  and  van- 
ished again. 

Already  the  days  here  were  beginning  to  draw  to 
their  sunny  end:  they  were  numbered  and  could  be 
easily  counted.  Both  Archie  and  Jessie  counted 
them  when  they  woke  in  the  morning,  and  in  the 
evening  both  said  to  themselves,  "Another  day 
gone."    But  their  reflections  on  this  diminishing  tale 


178         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

and  the  colour  of  their  emotions  were  absolutely  op- 
posed, for  while  they  both  intensely  enjoyed  these 
Italian  hours,  Jessie  counted  them  with  the  grudging 
sense  of  a  school-boy  who  enumerates  the  remaining 
days  of  his  holiday,  but  to  Archie  they  were  the  days 
of  term-time  which  still  (though  enjoyable)  must  be 
got  through  before  the  holidays  began.  Never  be- 
fore had  he  contemplated  a  stay  in  town,  except  with 
disgust,  but  now  as  he  thought  of  her  who  would 
be  living  with  them,  he  had  never  been  so  expect- 
antly enamoured  of  London. 

At  the  close  of  their  last  day  the  divine  serenity 
of  June  weather  was  troubled,  and  as  evening  drew 
on  the  clouds  which  for  a  few  hours  past  had  been 
weaving  wisps  and  streamers  over  the  sky  grew  to 
a  thick  curtain  that  stretched  from  horizon  to  hori- 
zon. It  was  of  opaque  grey,  but  here  and  there  in  it 
were  lines  and  patches  of  much  darker  texture,  as 
if  it  had  been  rent  and  had  been  darned  again  with 
a  blacker  thread.  Instead  of  the  coolness  which 
succeeded  sunset,  the  heat,  clear  no  longer,  but  im- 
pure like  the  air  of  a  closed  room,  got  ever  sultrier, 
and  for  the  refreshment  of  the  evening  breeze  from 
the  sea  there  was  exchanged  a  stifling  stagnation. 
All  life  had  gone  out  of  the  atmosphere:  it  was  as 
if  some  immense  Othello  was  smothering  the  world. 
The  air  was  heavy  and  charged  with  electricity,  but 
as  yet  no  remote  winking  of  lightning  nor  rumble 
of  thunder  shewed  that  there  was  relief  coming. 

They  had  dined  out  in  the  garden,  where  the 
candles  burned  unwaveringly  in  the  stillness,  and 
afterwards  had  strolled  to  the  far  angle  of  the  sup- 
porting wall  of  the  fortress,  where,  if  anywhere, 
they  might  find  some  hint  of  movement  in  this  in- 
tolerable calm.     But  no  breath  visited  them  even 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  179 

there,  and  the  very  bamboos  that  grew  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  garden-bed  were  as  motionless  aa  if  they 
had  been  made  of  lead. 

Archie  mopped  his  streaming  forehead. 

"If  it  interests  anybody,"  he  remarked,  "I  may 
say  that  I  am  going  to  die.  I  can't  bear  it  any 
longer.     I  think  I  shall  die  in  about  half-an-hour." 

Jessie  fanned  herself.  That  did  not  do  a  particle 
of  good,  it  only  seemed  to  make  her  hotter,  as  when 
you  stir  the  water  in  a  hot  bath.  But  she  tried  to 
interest  herself  in  Archie's  approaching  decease. 

"And  are  we  to  take  your  corpse  back  to  England 
to-morrow?"  she  asked. 

"Just  as  you  like.  I  shall  have  no  more  use  for 
it.  Lord,  and  I  haven't  finished  packing  yet.  Fancy 
having  to  pack  in  this  heat." 

"You  needn't  surely,  if  you're  going  to  die." 

"I  must.  My  immortal  manuscript  would  be  lost 
in  the  general  confusion  and  upset  caused  by  my 
death.  Or  shall  I  go  to  bed?  It  can't  be  hotter  in 
my  hammock  than  here.  Yes,  I  shall  get  into  my 
pyjamas,  go  to  bed,  and  do  my  packing  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

He  trailed  off  into  the  house,  and  presently  ap- 
peared again  attired  for  bed  and  strolled  across  to 
them. 

"Well,  I'll  wish  you  a  good-night,"  he  said,  "but 
I  very  much  doubt  whether  you'll  get  it.  You 
needn't  do  the  same  to  me,  for  I  know  I  shan't,  and 
your  wishes  would  be  hollow." 

He  moved  away  again  towards  the  stone-pine 
where  his  hammock  was  hung,  a  pale  tall  ghost  of  a 
figure  against  the  blackness. 

Then,  quite  suddenly,  some  panic  impulse  seized 
Jessie,  the  result  perhaps  of  her  overstrung  nerves 


180  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

and  the  overcharged  atmosphere,  and  she  sprang  up, 
not  knowing  why. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Archie,"  she  cried.  "Don't  go 
— something  is  going  to  happen." 

Even  as  she  spoke  the  whole  world  seemed  en- 
veloped in  fire  and  the  core  of  the  fire,  a  white-hot 
line,  plunged  downwards  into  the  stone-pine,  which 
was  rent  from  top  to  bottom.  Absolute  blackness 
filled  with  the  deafening  roar  of  the  thunder  and  a 
deluge  of  rain  succeeded,  and  they  rushed,  wet  to 
the  skin  in  a  moment,  for  the  shelter  of  the  house. 

For  a  moment  they  all  three  stood  there  recover- 
ing their  balance  from  that  tremendous  crash  and 
convulsion.  Then  Archie  with  his  soaked  silk  cling- 
ing close  to  his  shoulders  and  legs  turned  to  Jessie. 

"I  wonder  why  you  called  out  to  me,"  he  said. 
"What  made  you  do  it?  You  saved  my  life,  I  ex- 
pect." 

Jessie  laughed:  little  as  she  was  given  to  hysteria 
that  laugh  was  half-way  towards  incontrollable 
tears. 

"Why,  I  didn't  want  you  to  die  in  half-an-hour," 
she  said  lightly. 

But  she  remembered  that  moment  when  it  came 
for  her  to  save  Archie's  life  indeed.  Some  inex- 
plicable signal  from  love  had  flashed  upon  her  that 
night,  and  should  flash  upon  her  again. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Helena  was  having  breakfast  by  the  open  win- 
dow of  her  bedroom  in  her  cousin's  house.  It  was 
not  yet  nine  in  the  morning,  and  though  she  had 
been  dancing  till  three  o'clock  the  night  before,  she 
had  already  had  her  bath,  and  was  feeling  as  fresh 
as  if  she  had  had  eight  instead  of  hardly  more  than 
four  hours  in  bed.  Outside  the  square  was  still 
empty  of  passengers  and  the  pale  primrose-coloured 
sunshine  of  a  London  June  shone  on  a  wet  roadway 
and  rain-refreshed  trees,  for  a  shower  had  fallen 
not  long  ago,  and  through  the  open  window  there 
came  in  the  delicious  smell  of  damp  earth.  But 
she  gave  little  heed  to  that  or  to  the  breakfast  she 
was  eating  with  so  admirable  an  appetite,  for  her 
brain  cool  and  alert  in  this  early  hour  was  very 
busy  over  her  own  concerns.  Soon  she  would  have 
to  go  down  to  Cousin  Marion  and  see  if  she  could 
be  of  any  use  to  her,  for  it  was  quite  worth  while 
doing  jobs  for  Cousin  Marion,  as  she  always  paid 
kindnesses  back  with  a  royal  generosity.  And  she 
must  get  some  flowers  to  give  a  welcoming  air  to 
Archie's  room,  who  with  Jessie  was  expected  back 
to-day.  That  also  would  not  be  a  waste  of  the  time 
she  might  have  spent  more  directly  on  herself.  She 
would  get  some  for  Jessie,  too,  for  she  had  the  char- 
acter of  unselfish  thoughtfulness  to  keep  up.  It 
would  be  unnecessary  to  pay  for  them,  for  she  could 
get  them  at  the  shop  where  Cousin  Marion  dealed. 

181 


182  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Helena  had  enjoyed  the  most  entrancing  fort- 
night, during  which  time  she  had  occasionally- 
thought  of  Silorno,  and  had  oftener  talked  of  it  to 
Cousin  Marion,  for  she  had  that  valuable  social 
gift  of  appearing  to  talk  with  keen  attention  of  one 
thing  while  she  was  thinking  about  something  quite 
different.  She  could  easily  interject,  "Dear  Archie, 
it  will  be  nice  to  have  him  back,"  or  "Darling  Jessie 
wrote  me  such  a  delicious  letter:  she  is  enjoying 
herself!"  and  if  Cousin  Marion  expressed  a  wish  to 
see  the  letter,  it  was  equally  easy  to  say  that  she  had 
torn  it  up. 

Meantime  her  brain  would  be  busy  with  recollec- 
tions of  the  day  before,  as  they  bore  on  her  plans 
for  the  day  to  come.  They  might  go  off  onto  tan- 
gents for  brief  spaces,  but  her  well-ordered  and 
singly-purposed  mind  was  never  long  in  recalling 
them  to  their  main  topic. 

Helena  had  made  something  of  a  sensation  dur- 
ing these  last  weeks.  She  was  not  beautiful,  but  she 
was  quite  enchantingly  pretty,  and  her  mind  had 
the  qualities  which  might  rightly  be  supposed  to  un- 
derlie that  delicious  face  and  inform  those  slim 
graceful  limbs.  Nothing  seemed  to  mar  her  good- 
nature and  her  superb  gift  of  enjoying  herself.  It 
was  worth  while  being  agreeable  to  everybody,  and 
if  her  lot  happened  for  an  hour  or  two  a  day  to  be 
cast  with  elderly  bores,  she  was  indefatigable  in 
her  attention  to  them  at  the  time,  and  in  telling 
their  friends  afterwards  how  immensely  she  had  en- 
joyed talking  to  them.  It  paid  to  do  that  sort  of 
thing,  provided  that  it  was  done  with  a  gaiety  that 
made  it  appear  genuine  and  spontaneous:  if  your 
appreciation  came  bubbling  out  of  you,  no  one  sus- 
pected you  of  design,  and  she  seemed  the  most  de- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  183 

signless  delicious  girl  in  London.  For  it  is  next 
to  impossible  to  see  through  an  object  that  dazzles 
you.  To  crown  all  these  gifts  she  had  the  intensest 
power  of  e  ijoying  herself,  and  there  is  not  another 
key  that  unlocks  so  many  doors.  In  this  whirl  and 
mill-race  of  entertainment  which  characterised  the 
last  gay  summer  that  London  would  see  for  long 
there  was  no  time  to  make  friends,  but  only  to  take 
the  scalps  of  enthusiastic  acquaintances.  That  per- 
haps was  lucky  for  her. 

But  Helena  as  she  finished  her  breakfast  recalled 
her  mind  from  these  shining  experiences,  except  in 
so  far  as  they  bore  on  the  theme  that  insistently 
occupied  her.  There  was  no  doubt,  especially  after 
that  quiet  talk  in  the  paved  garden  outside  the  ball- 
room last  night,  that  Bertie  Harlow  was  dazzled,  ac- 
cording to  plan.  Heaven  only  knew  when  he  had 
last  been  to  a  ball,  for  he  was  close  on  forty  (Helena 
had  naturally  looked  him  up  in  a  peerage,  since 
she  liked  to  know  about  her  friends)  and  she  felt 
pretty  certain  that  he  had  danced  with  no  one  but 
her.  You  could  perhaps  hardly  call  his  share  of  the 
performance  dancing;  he  had  "stepped  a  measure," 
and  twice  trodden  on  her  toe,  but  after  all  it  did 
not  matter  whether  your  husband  danced  or  not, 
since  naturally  when  those  relations  had  been  ar- 
rived at,  he  would  not  dance  with  you.  Many 
women  no  doubt,  when  they  were  married,  would 
think  it  an  advantage  that  their  husbands  did  not 
dance,  since  then  they  would  not  dance  with  any- 
body else.  But  it  was  not  in  Helena's  nature  pros- 
pectively to  grudge  him  such  amusements,  should 
he  desire  them,  when  once  she  had  got  him.  But 
she  had  to  get  him  first,  and  to  do  that  she  had  to 


184          ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

keep  him  dazzled.  He  must  not  get  accustomed  to 
her. 

Helena  had  a  very  strong  belief  in  the  desirabil- 
ity of  simplifying  life.  This  did  not  in  the  least 
imply  that  she  thought  there  was  anything  attrac- 
tive in  the  simple  life:  her  simplification  amounted 
to  this,  that  she  wanted  to  find  out  exactly  what  she 
wanted,  and  then  without  deflection  of  aim  do  the 
very  best  with  her  efficient  armoury  of  weapons  to 
get  it,  while  the  second  clause  in  the  simplification 
of  life  was  to  find  out  what  irritated  or  bored  you, 
and  with  all  your  power  eliminate  it  from  your  ex- 
istence. If  you  could  not  get  what  you  wanted  with- 
out getting  something  that  bored  you,  it  was  merely 
necessary  to  ascertain  how  the  balance  between 
these  conflicting  interests  lay.  As  practically  ap- 
plied to  the  case  in  hand,  she  was  aware  that  Lord 
Harlow  bored  her,  though  not  badly,  and  that  his 
nose  irritated  her.  That  she  would  almost  certainly 
get  used  to,  while  on  the  other  side  of  the  scale 
were  quantities  of  things  she  liked.  She  liked  im- 
mense wealth,  position,  and  the  liberty  she  would 
undoubtedly  enjoy  if  she  married  this  amiable  man, 
whom  so  many  had  tried  to  capture.  That  in  itself 
was  an  incentive  to  her  pride,  and  without  being  a 
snob,  she  saw  no  objection  to  being  a  Marchioness. 

But  here  the  simplification  ended,  and  a  compU- 
cation  intruded  itself.  It  was  not  so  long  ago  that 
she  had  sat  under  the  stone-pine  with  Archie,  and 
seen  his  face  glow  in  the  darkness  as  he  drew  on 
his  cigarette.  In  point  of  attractiveness  there  was 
naturally  no  comparison  between  her  cousin  and 
this  amiable  middle-aged  man,  but  owing  to  the  im- 
possibility of  the  most  limited  polyandry  it  was 
clearly  no  use  to  think  of  marrying  them  both,  and 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  185 

all  that  was  left  was  to  choose  between  them,  sup- 
posing, as  she  most  sincerely  did,  that  it  was,  or  soon 
would  be,  for  her  to  choose.  Certainly  she  was  not 
in  love  with  Archie,  if  she  took  as  an  example  of 
that  the  ridiculous  symptoms  exhibited  by  Daisy 
Hollinger,  who  by  some  strange  freak  was  in  love 
with  Lord  Harlow.  Helena  had  behaved  very  wisely 
over  that,  for  she  had  instantly  seen  the  advantage 
of  becoming  great  friends,  in  her  sense  of  the  word, 
with  poor  Daisy,  who  poured  out  to  her  a  farrago  of 
amorous  imbecility,  and  she  was  sure  that  she  was- 
not  in  love  with  Archie  like  that.  Anything  so  in- 
sane seemed  incomprehensible  to  her  (and  was). 

But  Archie  was  a  dear,  she  had  quite  wished  he 
would  kiss  her  that  night,  of  course  in  a  cousinly 
fashion,  which  she  would  have  scorned  to  be  of- 
fended with,  whereas  she  did  not  in  the  least  look 
forw^ard  to  the  moment  when  Lord  Harlow  would 
kiss  her.  Apart  from  that,  the  simplification  of 
life  came  in  again,  and  against  Archie  there  were 
certain  items  which  it  would  be  imprudent  to  dis- 
regard. His  father  was  a  drunkard,  and  Archie 
himself  had  been  consumptive  as  a  child.  Con- 
sumption ran  in  families,  for  Archie's  brother  had 
died  of  it,  and  so  perhaps  did  drunkenness,  though 
she  did  Archie  the  justice  of  trying  and  failing  to 
remember  that  she  had  ever  seen  him  drink  wine  at 
all.    These  were  serious  objections  in  a  husband. 

There  was  another  perhaps  not  less  serious.  She- 
knew  from  Cousin  Marion  that  Uncle  Jack  had 
lately  lost  a  great  deal  of  money:  there  was  even  the 
question  of  shutting  up  or  letting  the  London  house 
next  winter.  Of  course,  if  she  married  ^Archie,  they 
could  not  spend  the  winter  down  at  Lacebury,  or 
live  with  poor  Uncle  Jack,  but  London  as  wife  of  an 


18()  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

impoverished  son  would  be  very  different  from  Lon- 
don as  the  wife  of  a  very  wealthy  man  v*'ho,  so  to 
speak,  was  nobody's  son.  Finally  there  were  certain 
stories  that  Cousin  Marion  had  told  her  about  queer 
messages  and  communications  that  had  come  to 
Archie  while  he  was  still  a  child  from  his  dead 
brother.  That  seemed  to  Helena's  practical  mind 
pure  nonsense,  and  yet  she  had  been  pleased  to  hear 
that  since  he  was  ten  these  rather  uncomfortable 
phenomena  had  ceased.  She  felt  that  she  did  not 
believe  in  them,  but  though  they  had  no  real  exis- 
tence she  disliked  the  thought  of  them.  And  though 
it  was  so  long  since  there  had  been  any  repetition 
of  them,  they  might  (though  they  were  all  non- 
sense) crop  up  again.  She  had  no  belief  in  ghosts, 
but  she  would  not  willingly  have  slept  in  a  haunted 
room.  The  dead  were  dead,  whereas  she  was  very 
much  alive. 

Well  it  was  time  to  dress  and  go  down  to  Cousin 
Marion.  This  long  frank  meditation  (for  she  was 
always  frank  with  herself,  which  perhaps  was  the 
reason  that  she  had  so  little  of  that  commodity  to 
spare  for  other  people)  had  helped  considerably  to 
clear  her  mind  and  provoke  simplification.  And  like 
a  good  housewife  who  will  permit  no  waste  of  what 
can  possibly  be  used,  she  thought  she  would  have  a 
very  useful  function  for  Archie  to  perform  when  he 
arrived  that  evening. 

She  found  Lady  Tintagel  busy  with  her  morning's 
post.  There  were  a  quantity  of  invitations,  most  of 
which,  owing  to  press  of  others,  had  to  be  declined, 
and  Helena  having  marked  each  of  those  with  an 
"Accept"  or  "Refuse"  laid  them  aside  to  answer. 
There  was  one,  where  the  Russian  dancers  were  to 
perform,  which  she  very  much  regretted  having  to 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  18T 

say  "no"  to,  since  that  evening  was  already  filled, 
and  wondered  if  by  any  contrivance  it  would  be  pos- 
sible to  manage  it.  A  glance  at  Lady  Tintagel's  en- 
gagement book  shewed  her  that  the  prohibiting  ac- 
ceptance was  for  a  dinner  and  concert  at  Lady  Aw- 
cock's,  where  all  that  was  stately  and  Victorian  spent 
evenmgs  of  unparalleled  ckeariness.  Helena  had  al- 
ready produced  the  most  favourable  impression  on 
Lady  Awcock  by  listening  to  her  practically  endless 
dissertations  on  political  society  forty  years  ago, 
and  she  thought  she  could  manage  it. 

"And  I  shall  enter  all  the  invitations  you  accept 
in  your  engagement-book,  shall  I,  Cousin  Marion?" 
she  asked. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  will  you?  That's  really  all  I  have 
for  you  this  morning.  What  will  you  do  with  your- 
self?" 

Helena  gathered  up  cards  and  engagement-book. 

"I  think  I  shall  stop  at  home,"  she  said.  "You 
often  do  want  something  more,  you  know,  and  I  hate 
not  being  here  to  do  it  for  you." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort.  There's  the  motor  for  you, 
if  you  want  to  go  and  see  anybody." 

Helena  considered. 

"Oh,  I  should  like  to  do  one  thing,"  she  said. 
"It  won't  take  long.  May  I  get  some  flowers  for 
Archie's  room  and  Jessie's?  Flowers  do  look  so 
cool  and  refreshing  when  you've  been  a  day  and  a 
night  in  the  train." 

"Of  course  you  may.  It  was  nice  of  you  to  think 
of  that.  But  then  you  do  think  of  rather  nice  things 
for  other  people." 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Cousin  Marion,"  laughed  the  girl. 

Helena  retired  to  the  table  in  the  window  with 
her  materials  and  proceeded  to  execute  a  very  neat 


188  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

and  simple  piece  of  work.  The  entries  in  Lady 
Tintagel's  engagement-book  were  only  made  in  pen- 
cil, and  she  erased  the  inconvenient  Lady  Awcock's 
name  from  the  evening  some  fortnight  ahead  and 
wrote  in  its  place  that  of  the  giver  of  the  Russian 
party,  to  whom  instead  of  a  refusal  she  sent  a  line, 
in  her  cousin's  name,  of  grateful  acceptance.  Then 
she  wrote  a  charming  little  letter  of  penitence  to 
Lady  Awcock,  abasing  herself  and  at  the  same  time 
pitying  herself.  She  had  done  the  stupidest  thing, 
for  she  had  accepted  Lady  Awcock's  invitation  on 
an  evening  when  they  were  already  engaged.  The 
letter  proceeded  "I  can't  tell  you  how  disappointed 
I  am,  dear  Lady  Awcock,  for  I  was  so  looking  for- 
ward to  another  talk  with  you,  and  hear  more  of 
those  interesting  things  you  told  me,  but  perhaps 
if  I  have  not  disgusted  you  beyond  forgiveness,  you 
would  ask  me  again  some  day.  And  would  you  be 
wonderfully  kind  and  not  tell  Lady  Tintagel  what 
a  stupid  thing  I  have  done,  for  she  lets  me  keep  her 
engagement-book  for  her,  and  if  she  knew,  I  am 
afraid  she  would  never  trust  me  again." 

This  last  touch  thoroughly  pleased  Helena:  it  was 
confiding  and  childlike.  For  the  rest  she  relied  on 
Cousin  Marion  not  happening  to  remember  that 
they  had  once  accepted  an  invitation  to  Lady  Aw- 
cock's, and  even  if  she  did  have  some  impression  of 
it,  her  engagement-book  with  no  such  entry  appear- 
ing in  it,  would  show  her  that  her  memory  had 
played  her  false.  But  probably  Cousin  Marion 
would  remember  nothing  whatever  about  it:  indeed, 
in  the  multiplicity  of  engagements,  it  seemed  to 
Helena  that  the  risk  she  ran  was  negligible. 

Helena  found  time  to  go  to  Victoria  to  meet  the 
travellers   that    afternoon,    and    to    reflect   as   she 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  189 

waited  for  the  boat-train  to  come  in  that  she  in  her 
cool  pink  blouse  and  her  skirt  of  Poiret  stuff  would 
certainly  present  a  very  refreshing  contrast  to  poor 
Jessie  in  dishevelled  and  dusty  travelling-clothes. 
She  did  not  in  the  least  want  Jessie  to  look  bedrag- 
gled except  in  so  far  as  she  herself  would  gain  by 
the  contrast,  for  she  was  good-natured  enough  not 
to  want  any  one  to  be  at  a  disadvantage  as  long  as 
that  did  not  add  to  her  own  advantage.  Jessie  was 
a  dreadfully  bad  sailor,  too,  but  it  was  quite  enough 
that  she  should  have  travelled  for  a  night  and  a 
day,  without  hoping  that  she  had  had  a  bad  cross- 
ing. Helena  merely  wanted  to  appear  fresh  and 
brilliant  herself.  At  length  the  train  came  in,  and 
though  she  saw  Archie  step  out  quite  distinctly,  she 
continued  searching  for  him  with  her  eyes  in  the 
crowd,  until  he  made  his  way  up  to  her. 

"Ah,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "how  lovely  to  see  you. 
And  don't  be  cross  with  me  for  coming  to  meet  you 
if  it  bores  you  to  be  met  at  the  station.  But  I  did 
want  to  welcome  you.  And  where's  Jessie?  There 
she  is!    Jessie  darling.    What  fun!" 

Archie  did  not  look  as  if  he  was  at  all  bored  to 
be  met  at  the  station. 

"That's  perfectly  ripping  of  you,"  he  said.  "I  am 
glad  you  came.  We've  been  baked  and  boiled  all 
the  way  from  Silorno.  And  the  crossing!  I  thought 
it  was  always  calm  in  the  summer." 

"Archie,  don't  allude  to  it,"  said  Jessie. 

Helena  took  her  sister's  arm. 

"Darling  Jessie,  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said. 
"Archie's  a  wretch  for  mentioning  it.  Now  you  go 
straight  to  the  motor  and  sit  there  quietly.  Archie 
and  I  will  see  to  the  luggage." 

If  Archie,  as  is  probable,  drew  the  contrast  he  was 


190  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

intended  to  draw  between  the  sisters,  Helena  on  her 
side  drew  another  between  him  and  Lord  Harlow. 
There  he  stood,  looking  eagerly  at  her  as  they  waited 
the  emergence  of  their  trunks,  face  and  neck  and 
hands  so  tanned  by  the  sun  that  everyone  else 
looked  ill  and  anaemic  by  him.  He  was  tall  and 
lithe  and  slender  with  the  quick  movement  of  some 
wild  animal,  and  in  his  brown  face  his  blue  eyes 
shone  like  transparent  turquoises.  He  seemed  an 
incarnation  of  sun  and  sea  and  wholesome  virility, 
and  as  she  thought  of  the  rather  heavy  Kalmuck 
face  of  Lord  Harlow,  and  staid  aspect  suitable  to  his 
forty  years,  she  almost  wondered  whether  in  her 
estimate  made  this  morning  she  had  allowed  enough 
for  personal  charm.  But  there  had  been  other  fac- 
tors as  well,  and  who  knew  whether  below  this  en- 
gaging exterior  there  were  not  planted  the  seeds  of 
tragic  outcome?  But  it  was  certainly  pleasant  to 
reflect  that  his  exuberance  of  young  manhood 
would,  she  made  no  doubt,  be  all  hers  if  she  made 
up  her  mind  to  want  it.  In  any  case  was  there  an- 
other girl  in  London  who  had  so  attractive  a  second 
string  to  her  bow? 

Archie  had,  on  the  appearance  of  one  of  their 
pieces  of  luggage,  insinuated  himself  into  the  crowd, 
and  Helena  was  left  outside,  when  a  sight  odd  to  see 
at  a  station  attracted  her  attention.  Beyond,  the 
platform  lay  empty,  and  out  of  some  porters'  shed 
there,  there  bounded  a  big  tabby  cat  with  a  mouse  in 
its  mouth.  Its  tail  switched,  its  eyes  gleamed  with 
the  joy  of  the  successful  hunter,  but  it  did  not  pre- 
pare to  eat  the  mouse  immediately.  It  trotted  a 
little  further  off,  lay  down,  and  depositing  its  prey 
dabbed  at  it  softly  with  velvet  paws  and  sheathed 
nails.    It  even  let  it  run  a  few  inches  away  from  it, 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  191 

and  then  gently  shepherded  it  back  again.  Once  it 
let  it  seem  to  escape  altogether,  gave  it  a  start  of  at 
least  a  couple  of  yards,  while  it  watched  it  with 
quivering  shoulders,  and  then  playfully  bounded  in 
the  air,  and  reminded  it  that  it  was  not  its  own  mas- 
ter. Then  there  came  a  dismal  little  squeak  as  from 
a  slate-pencil,  the  poor  mouse's  troubles  were  over, 
and  a  pleased  cat  blinked  in  the  sun  and  licked  its 
lips.  Helena  followed  this  gruesome  little  drama 
with  an  interest  that  surprised  and  even  rather 
shocked  her.  She  was  altogether  on  the  side  of  the 
cat:  the  cat  according  to  its  lights  was  not  being 
cruel,  it  was  merely  doing  the  natural  thing  with  a 
mouse.  It  happened  to  like  teasing  its  prey,  letting 
it  think  that  it  had  escaped,  sheathing  the  claws 
that  had  caught  it,  and  playing  with  it.  There  was 
nothing  horrible  about  it:  it  was  doing  as  Nature 
intended  it  to  do.  She  was  rather  sorry  for  the 
mouse,  but  that  is  what  came  of  being  a  mouse.  .  .  . 
And  there  was  Archie  triumphant  with  a  porter  and 
his  rescued  luggage.  Archie  had  a  way  with  offi- 
cials; he  smiled  at  them  in  a  confident  friendly  way 
and  they  always  did  what  he  wanted  and  never 
searched  his  traps. 

There  was  a  dance  somewhere  that  night,  but 
Helena,  letting  the  fact  be  reluctantly  dragged  out 
of  her  that  there  was  such  a  thing,  only  said  how 
nice  it  would  be  to  go  to  bed  early. 

"Are  you  tired,  dear?"  asked  Lady  Tintagel. 

Helena  made  a  little  deprecating  face,  the  face 
of  the  prettiest  little  martjr  in  the  cause  of  truth 
ever  beheld. 

"No,  I  can't  exactly  say  I  am,"  she  said.    "I  think 


192  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

— I  think  I  was  speaking  on  behalf  of  Archie  and 
Jessie." 

"But  I'm  not  tired  either,"  said  he.  "Let's  go  to 
somebody's  dance.  I  can't  dance  an  atom,  but  He- 
lena shall  teach  me.  There's  nothing  like  practice  in 
public.    What  dance  is  it  by  the  way?" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  she.  "It's  your  Uncle 
and  Aunt  Toby.    But,  Archie,  I'm  sure  you're  tired." 

"But  I'm  not,  I  tell  you.  It's  whether  you  want 
to  go." 

Lady  Tintagel  struck  in. 

"If  you  all  go  on  being  so  unselfish,"  she  said, 
"you  will  never  settle  anything.  Try  to  be  selfish 
for  one  moment,  Helena:  it  won't  hurt.  Do  you 
want  to  go?" 

"Enormously,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh  of  resigna- 
tion. 

"And  you,  Archie?" 

"Dying  for  it.    Let's  call  a  taxi." 

"And  you,  Jessie?" 

"I  should  hate  it,"  said  Jessie  very  confidently. 

The  matter  of  course  was  settled  on  those  lines 
and  Helena  was  duly  credited  with  having  wanted 
to  go  enormously,  but  with  having  done  her  utmost 
to  efface  herself  for  the  sake  of  others.  This  was 
precisely  the  end  she  had  in  view  all  along,  and  now 
having  had  the  dance,  so  to  speak,  forced  on  her, 
she  was  quite  free  to  enjoy  herself.  She  had  pro- 
duced precisely  the  impression  she  wanted  on  Archie 
and  his  mother,  and  though  it  was  likely  that  Jessie 
with  her  long  familiarity  with  such  manoeuvres  was 
not  equally  unenlightened,  she  knew  by  correspond- 
ing familiarity  Jessie's  loyalty.  She  gave  a  little 
butterfly  kiss  to  Cousin  Marion  and  a  murmur  of 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  193 

delighted  thanks,  and  went  to  her  sister  to  finish  up 
this  very  complete  little  picture. 

"Darling  Jessie,"  she  said,  "go  to  bed  soon  and 
sleep  well.  I  shall  tiptoe  in,  in  the  morning,  and  if 
you're  still  asleep,  I  shall  tell  them  not  to  wake  you 
till  you  ring.    May  I  do  that.  Cousin  Marion?" 

Jessie  understood  all  this  perfectly  well,  and  her 
mouth  had  that  curve  in  it  that  might  or  might  not 
be  a  smile. 

"Good-night,"  she  said.  "Have  a  nice  dance,  and 
teach  Archie  well." 

Luck  is  often  nothing  more  than  another  mode  of 
expressing  the  success  that  usually  attends  fore- 
sight; chance  favours  the  wise  calculation.  Helena 
last  night  had  dropped  the  most  casual  hint  to  Lord 
Harlow  that  she  was  probably  going  to  this  dance 
to-night,  but  she  was  satisfied  that  he  had  been  at- 
tending, and  was  not  unprepared  to  see  him  there. 
Even  if  she  had  not  been  able  to  come,  she  suspected 
that  he  would  do  so,  and  her  absence  could  have 
been  delightfully  explained  to  him  afterwards.  But 
there  he  was,  not  dancing,  but  standing  about  near 
the  door  of  the  ballroom,  and  quite  obviously  in- 
terested in  arrivals.  Undoubtedly  he  saw  the  bril- 
liant entry  of  herself  and  Archie,  but  she  continued 
to  put  a  few  of  the  crowd  between  herself  and  him 
as  she  passed  near  him,  and  for  the  present  gave  him 
no  more  than  a  glance  and  a  smile,  a  down-dropt 
eye,  and  then  one  glance  again,  and  passed  with  Ar- 
chie into  the  ballroom.  There  an  ordinary  old-fash- 
ioned waltz  was  in  progress,  and  not  one  of  those 
anaemic  strollings  about  which  were  becoming  pop- 
ular, and  she  slid  off  with  her  radiant  partner  onto 
a  floor  not  overfull.    She  had  a  moment's  misgiving 


194.  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

when  she  remembered  that  Archie  had  said  he  could- 
n't dance,  for  it  would  vex  her  to  appear  in  the 
clutch  of  a  bungler,  but  after  all  Archie  could  hardly 
be  awkward  if  he  tried.  Immediately  all  her  fears 
vanished,  for  they  had  hardly  gone  up  the  short  side 
of  the  room  before  she  knew  that  if  any  one  was  the 
bungler  it  was  she.  She  might  have  guessed  from 
seeing  him  walk  and  move  that  he  could  dance;  what 
she  could  not  have  guessed  was  that  anybody  could 
dance  like  this.  They  floated,  they  glided;  it  was 
the  floor  surely  that  moved  under  them :  it  was  the 
wind  of  that  swinging  voluptuous  tune  that  wafted 
them  on  as  in  some  clear  eddy  of  sunlit  water. 

"But,  my  dear,  you  said  you  couldn't  dance,"  she 
exclaimed. 

"Oh,  this  sort  of  thing,"  said  he.  "I  meant  the 
steppings  and  crawlings  of  the  new  style." 

Helena  was  too  content  to  talk:  her  whole  being 
glowed  with  the  satisfaction  of  this  flowing  move- 
ment. The  floor  got  ever  emptier,  lines  of  expectant 
fox-trotters  and  bunny-huggers  stood  round  the 
walls,  but  none  of  them  objected  to  watching  for 
a  little  longer  the  entrancing  couple  who  now  had 
the  floor  almost  to  themselves.  Couple  after 
couple  dropped  off  and  stood  looking,  and  to  Hel- 
ena's gleaming  eyes  they  passed  in  streaks  of  black 
and  white  and  many-coloured  hues  as  she  and 
Archie  moved  ever  more  freely  and  largely  over  the 
untenanted  space.  She  could  just  see  the  faces  of 
friends  as  she  passed,  and  knew  that  Lord  Harlow 
had  come  in  and  was  standing  by  the  door.  There 
was  no  question  of  luck  in  that:  he  was  but  doing  as 
she  knew  he  was  obliged  to  do.  Then  the  web  of 
sourd  that  poured  out  of  the  gallery  grew  more 
brightly-coloured  as  it  quickened  to  its  close,  and 


ACROSS  THE  STREAJVI  195 

still  Archie  and  she  moved  without  effort  as  if  they 
were  part  of  it  and  of  each  other.  And  then  the 
whole  fabric  of  that  divine  dream  of  melody  and  mo- 
tion was  shattered,  for  the  dance  was  over. 

Archie  had  not  spoken  either  since  he  intimated 
that  he  had  alluded  to  steppings  and  crawlings,  and 
now  he  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  breathing  just  a  little  quickly  and  bewildered 
as  with  some  dazzling  light.  Ever  since  he  had  put 
his  arm  round  the  girl  and  taken  her  hand  in  his, 
he  had  had  that  sense  of  sinking  into  sunlit  waters, 
where  he  arrived  at  his  true  and  naked  self.  Now 
he  had  swum  up  again,  and  he  was  clothed  in  black 
coat  and  w^hite  shirt,  and  Helena  was  standing  a 
step  apart  from  him,  and  every  one  else  at  the  edge 
of  the  room  was  very  far  away.  Instantly  a  mingling 
of  wild  consternation  and  triumph  seized  him. 

"Oh,  Helena,  were  we  doing  that  all  by  our- 
selves?" he  said.  "How  frightful!  Let's  get  out 
of  it.  But  wasn't  it  divine?  May  we  do  it  again 
soon?     Or  will  they  have  nothing  but  crawlings?" 

It  appeared  that  crawlings  were  to  be  the  next 
item,  and  Archie  noticed  that  in  the  crowd  that 
now  came  about  them  again  a  particular  man  had 
his  eye  on  them  and  was  unmistakably  burrowing 
towards  them. 

"Yes,  Archie;  of  course  we  will,"  said  the  girl. 
"Go  and  see  your  Aunt,  and  ask  if  we  may  have 
another  waltz  ever  so  soon.  Oh,  here's  Lord  Har- 
low :  I  want  to  introduce  you." 

This  was  done,  and  Lord  Harlow  turned  to  Hel- 
ena again. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  present  at  some  Bacchic 
festival,"  he  said  in  a  very  precise  voice.  "But  you 
should   have  vineleaves   in   your   hair,    and   Lord 


196  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Davidstow  a  tunic  and  a  thyrsus.  But  we  are  de- 
scending to  prose  again,  and  I  feel  like  a  Bradshaw. 
But  may  I  be  your  Bradshaw?" 

Helena  looked  from  one  to  the  other:  if  she  had 
had  a  tail  she  would  certainly  have  been  switching 
it. 

"Ah,  do,"  she  said.  "A  Bradshaw  is  quite  indis- 
pensable. Archie,  go  and  get  a  thyrsus — will  a  poker 
do,  Lord  Harlow? — and  persuade  Mrs.  Morris  to 
have  another  waltz  before  long." 

It  seemed  perfectly  suitable  as  she  plodded  on  the 
weary  way  of  a  fox-trot  to  talk,  now  that  sheer  ani- 
mal exhilaration  put  no  bar  on  conversation,  and  in 
answer  to  Lord  Harlow,  who  had  not  caught  Archie's 
name,  she  said: 

"Yes,  Lord  Davidstow.  Surely  I  told  you  about 
him"  (she  knew  that  she  had  purposely  not  done 
so).  "He  is  Lady  TintageFs  son,  with  whom  I  am 
staying." 

Lord  Harlow  quietly  assimilated  this  as  he  turned 
slowly  round. 

"And  does  he  do  other  things  as  well  as  he 
dances?"  he  asked. 

"I  think  he  does,"  said  she,  "though  I  never  really 
thought  about  it.  When  people  are  such  dears  as 
Archie,  one  doesn't  consider  what  they  do.  They 
just  are." 

"He  certainly  is.    He  appears  very  much  alive." 

"Yes,  he's  madly  alive." 

She  gave  him  a  swift  glance,  and  guessing  she 
had  gone  far  enough  on  that  tack  she  put  about. 

"I  think  it's  possible  to  be  too  much  alive,"  she 
said.  "It's  like  a  hot-water  bottle  that  is  too  hot: 
it  burns  you.  But  you  can't  help  being  carried  off 
your  feet  by  it — I  don't  mean  the  hot-water  bottle." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  19^ 

He  paused  a  moment  for  the  purpose  of  phrasing. 

"I  must  weight  you  with  a  Bradshaw,"  he  said, 
"That  will  keep  you  to  earth.    We  can't  spare  you." 

Helena  laughed. 

"You  say  things  too  neatly,"  she  said.  "What  a 
delicious  notion.     What  have  you  done  all  day?" 

"I  have  waited  for  this  evening." 

"And  I  hope  it  doesn't  disappoint  you  now  that 
it  has  come,"  she  said. 

"It  is  up  to  my  highest  expectations  just  now," 
said  he. 

Suddenly  it  flashed  into  Helena's  mind  that  this 
was  the  temperature  of  his  wooing.  He  was  engaged 
in  that  now :  those  neat  and  proper  sentences,  turned 
as  in  a  lathe,  were  the  expression  of  it,  they  and  the 
mild  pleased  glances  that  he  gave  her;  and  yet  dis- 
creet and  veiled  as  it  all  was,  she  divined  that  ac- 
cording to  his  nature  and  his  years  it  was  love  that 
inspired  it.  She  found  it  quite  easy  to  adjust  her- 
self to  that  level,  and  if  his  kiss  (when  the  time 
came  for  that)  was  of  the  same  respectful  and  fin- 
ished quality,  she  could  deal  with  that  too.  But 
she  wondered  how  Archie  would  make  love.  ...  It 
was  necessary  to  fox-trot  a  little  longer,  and  while 
trotting,  trot  also  conversationally,  and  with  inten- 
tion she  let  herself  press  a  little  more  against  his 
arm. 

"Oh,  I  am  glad  of  that,"  she  said  lightly.  "It  is 
such  a  dreadful  pity  when  people  are  disappointed. 
But  I  think  I  would  sooner  anticipate  something 
nice  and  fail  to  get  it,  than  not  anticipate  at  aU. 
Can  you  imagine  not  looking  forward  to  the  deli- 
cious things  you  want?" 

"Do  you  want  very  much?"  he  asked. 


198         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"Yes,  everything.  And  I  want  it  not  only  for 
myself  but  for  everybody." 

She  made  the  mental  note  that  he  was  very  shy, 
for  he  had  nothing  in  response  to  this,  except  that 
his  shirt  creaked.  But  that  suited  her  very  well; 
she  did  not  want  him  to  follow  this  up,  just  yet. 

Meantime  the  sedate  marchings  and  retreats  and 
occasional  revolution  of  the  fox-trot  went  decorously 
on.  The  room  was  very  full,  and  when  there  was 
nowhere  to  march  to,  they  stopped  where  they 
were,  and  marked  time  and  rocked  a  little  to  and 
fro.  Then  perhaps  a  narrow  lane  opened  in  front 
of  them,  and  they  waddled  down  it,  brushing  shoul- 
ders against  the  hedges.  She  had  seen  Archie  go 
to  Mrs.  Morris,  after  which  he  had  appeared  for  a 
moment  in  the  gallery  where  the  band  was,  and  now 
he  was  back  again,  standing  near  the  door  and 
watching  her.  She  gave  him  little  glances  from 
time  to  time,  elevated  her  eyebrows  as  if  in  depreca- 
tion of  this  unexhilarating  performance,  or  smiled  at 
him,  guessing  that  he  had  arranged  for  another 
waltz. 

At  last  the  end  came,  the  fox-trotters  ceased  to 
clutch  each  other,  and  walked  away  with  about  as 
much  Terpsichorean  fervour  as  they  had  been  danc- 
ing with.  Dull  though  the  last  twenty  minutes  had 
been  from  that  standpoint,  Helena  felt  quite  satis- 
fied with  it,  while  motion  or  perhaps  emotion  had 
made  her  partner  hot;  he  gently  wiped  his  forehead 
with  a  very  fine  cambric  handkerchief. 

"Perfectly  delicious,"  he  said.  "I  should  have 
liked  that  to  go  on  for  ever.  And  how  long  shall  I 
have  to  wait  before  it  begins  again?" 

Archie  had  sidled  through  the  crowd  up  to  them. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  199 

"Helena,  we're  going  to  have  another  waltz  at 
once,"  he  cried.    "Don't  let  us  waste  any  of  it." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

*We?"  she  said.    "Are  you  quite  certain?" 

"May  I  say  *we'  also?"  asked  Lord  Harlow. 

She  turned  towards  him,  but  her  hand  still  rested 
on  Archie,  and  he  felt  the  slight  pressure  from  her 
finger-tips. 

"Oh,  I  was  only  teasing  my  cousin,"  she  said.  "I 
had  promised  him  another  waltz.  But  later  may  I 
borrow  my  Bradshaw  again?" 

The  band  struck  up,  setting  her  a-tingle  for  the 
repetition  of  what  had  gone  before. 

"Oh,  Archie,  come  on,"  she  cried.  "Au  revoir, 
Bradshaw." 

Alert  for  movement,  with  the  heady  tune  of  the 
waltz  already  mounting  into  them  like  wine,  they 
stepped  off  onto  the  floor.  It  was  like  stepping  onto 
some  moving  platform,  it  and  the  tune  without  any 
conscious  effort  of  their  own  seemed  to  carry  them 
away.  But  Archie  had  one  question  to  ask  before 
he  abandoned  himself. 

"Bradshaw?"  he  said,  "I  thought  you  told  me 
his  name  was  Harlow." 

She  gave  a  little  bubble  of  laughter. 

"Oh,  that  was  only  a  joke,"  she  said.  "He  told 
me  that  you  and  I  were  like  a  Bacchic  festival,  and 
he  felt  prosy  like  a  Bradshaw  in  consequence." 

"But  what  does  it  matter  to  him  what  we  are 
like?"  asked  he. 

"Well,  it  was  a  compliment:  he  meant  it  nicely," 
said  she.    "Don't  let  us  talk :  it  rather  spoils  it." 

Helena  reviewed  those  manoeuvres  when  she  got 
home  that  night  and  she  congratulated  herself  on 


200         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

the  neatness  and  efiSciency  of  her  dispositions.  She 
felt  sure  that  she  had  stirred  up  a  livelier  ferment 
in  Lord  Harlow,  and  then  had  managed  to  inspire 
him  with  a  vague  distrust  and  jealousy  of  her  inti- 
macy with  Archie,  She  suspected  that  he  was  a 
little  sluggish  in  his  emotions,  and  this  would  serve 
admirably  as  a  stimulant.  She  quite  realised  that 
she  had  not  yet  brought  him  up  to  the  point  of  pro- 
posing to  her,  for  his  inured  bachelor  habits  would 
want  a  good  deal  of  breaking,  but  it  was  clear  to  her 
that  she  had  made  a  crack  in  them,  and  that  the 
judicious  use  of  Archie  might  be  profitably  used  to 
widen  that  crack.  Left  completely  to  her,  he  might 
hold  together  for  a  long  time  yet,  and  she  wanted 
him,  if  she  could  have  it  entirely  her  own  way,  to 
propose  to  her  about  the  end  of  the  season.  The 
effect  of  Archie  constantly  with  her  would  be  cumu- 
lative: it  was  not  a  wedge  that  would  cause  him  to 
fly  into  splinters  forthwith,  it  would  just  widen  the 
crack,  and  prevent  it  closing  again. 

And  meanwhile  it  was  extremely  pleasant  always 
to  have  this  wedge  in  her  hand,  to  hammer  from 
time  to  time,  as  it  suited  her  main  plan,  and  at 
others  to  stroke  and  play  with.  She  was  not  in  love 
with  him,  but  it  made  her  purr  to  see  that  he  was 
certainly  falling  in  love  with  her,  to  dab  him  with 
sheathed  claws,  to  wish  that  he  had  those  material 
advantages  which  had  made  her  choose  the  elder 
man.  It  clearly  served  her  purpose  to  use  him,  and 
the  using  of  him  gave  her  pleasure.  But  the  pleasure 
was  secondary:  it  was  the  assistance  he  gave  her  in 
breaking  up  Lord  Harlow  that  was  of  primary  im- 
portance. 

Archie  brought  all  his  gaiety  and  charm  to  bear 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  201 

on  his  love-making.  Falling  in  love  did  not  appear 
to  him,  at  this  stage,  anything  but  the  most  ex- 
hilarating, ahnost  hilarious,  experience.  The  flirta- 
tion that  Helena  seemed  to  be  having  with  Lord 
Harlow  amused  him  enormously ;  not  for  a  moment 
did  he  believe  that  Helena  meant  anything.  He 
was  not  the  only  man  on  whom  Helena  exercised  the 
perfectly  legitimate  attraction  of  her  extreme  pretti- 
ness,  and  her  enthusiastic  child-like  enjoyment. 

"Oh,  every  one  is  so  kind  and  so  awfully  nice,"  she 
said  to  him  one  day  as  they  returned  from  an  early 
morning  ride.    "I  love  them  all  by  the  handful." 

"Including  the  Bradshaw?"  asked  he. 

"Yes,  certainly  including  the  Bradshaw.  Don't 
you  like  him?    He  likes  you  so  much." 

Archie  considered  this. 

"I  don't  know  if  I  like  him  or  not,"  he  said.  "I 
don't  think  I  ever  found  out.  He  doesn't  matter. 
But  you  matter  awfully  to  him.  Did  you  know  that 
you  are  the  most  outrageous  flirt,  Helena?" 

"Archie,  how  horrid  of  you,"  said  she.  "Just  be- 
cause I  like  people,  and  to  a  certain  extent  they  like 
me.  Why  should  I  be  cross  and  unpleasant  to 
people,  as  if  it  was  wicked  to  like  them?" 

"Well,  if  you'll  give  me  long  odds  I  will  bet  you 
that  the  Bradshaw  asks  you  to — to  be  his  A.B.C. 
before  the  end  of  the  season,"  said  Archie. 

"My  dear,  what  nonsense,"  said  she,  with  a  sud- 
den thrill  of  pleasure.  "What  can  have  put  that 
into  your  head?" 

"I  can  see  it.  That's  the  way  a  man  like  the 
Bradshaw  looks  at  a  girl  when  his — his  affections 
are  engaged.  He  looks  as  if  a  very  dear' Aunt  was 
dead.    He  has  amour  triste." 

That  certainly  hit  off  a  type  of  gaze  to  which 


202         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Helena  felt  that  she  had  been  subjected,  and  she 
laughed. 

"Well,  I'll  give  you  five  to  one  in  half-crowns," 
she  said. 

"Don't.  Some  day  I  shall  have  twelve  and  six- 
pence." 

They  turned  and  cantered  back  along  the  soft 
track.  The  dew  of  night  had  not  yet  vanished  from 
the  grass,  and  the  geometric  looking  plane  leaves, 
the  rhododendrons  and  the  flower-beds  were  in  full 
bloom,  and  early  though  it  was,  riders  and  foot  pas- 
sengers were  plentiful.  Probably  the  day  would  be 
hot,  for  the  heat  haze  purplish-brown  in  the  dis- 
tance was  beginning  to  form  in  the  air,  softly  veil- 
ing the  further  view.  Presently  they  dropped  again 
into  a  walking-pace,  and  Helena,  whose  mind  had 
been  busy  on  Archie's  description  of  a  certain  sort 
of  love-lorn  look,  spoke  of  a  subject  suggested  by  it. 

"How  do  you  think  Jessie  is?"  she  asked. 

"That's  exactly  what  my  mother  asked  me  last 
night,"  said  he.  "She's  rather  silent  and  preoccu- 
pied, isn't  she?" 

"That  struck  me,"  said  the  girl.  "I  thought  per- 
haps she  wasn't  very  well,  but  she  told  me  there 
was  nothing  the  matter.  Darling  Jessie  is  so  re- 
served. She  never  tells  me  anything.  Certainly  she 
looks  well:  do  you  think  she  has  anything  on  her 
mind?" 

"I  don't  see  what  she  could  have.  But  it's  odd 
that  it  has  struck  all  of  us." 

Helena  sighed  and  shook  her  head  with  a  pretty 
unreproachful  air. 

"I  sometimes  wish  that  Jessie  would  make  more 
of  a  friend  of  me,"  she  said.  "I  try  so  hard  to  get 
close  to  her,  but  all  the  time  I  feel  she  is  keeping 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  203 

me  at  arm's  length.  It  would  be  lovely  to  have  a 
sister  who  would  admit  me  to  her  own  own  self. 
But  I  always  have  to  tap,  so  to  speak,  at  Jessie's 
door,  and  she  so  often  says  she  won't  open  it." 

"Was  she  always  like  that?"  asked  Archie,  seeing 
that  Helena's  eyes  were  dim  and  bright. 

"Yes,  but  lately  I  think  it  has  been  worse.  I  wish 
Jessie  would  let  me  in.  However,  I  am  always  wait- 
ing, and  I  think  Jessie  knows  that.  It  is  no  use 
pressing  for  confidence,  is  it?    One  can  only  wait." 

This  picture,  so  simply  and  pathetically  conveyed 
by  Helena,  of  herself  waiting,  a  little  dim-eyed,  for 
Jessie  to  admit  her,  was  very  convincing,  and 
Archie  wondered  at  the  contrast  between  the  two 
sisters,  the  one  so  child-like  in  her  confidence  that 
all  the  world  was  her  friend,  the  other  holding  her- 
self rather  detached,  rather  aloof,  without  that  wel- 
coming charm  of  manner  that  surely  was  the  ex- 
pression of  an  adorable  mind.  It  was  not  wholly 
the  light  of  his  dawning  love  that  invested  the 
sketch  with  such  tender  colouring,  for  there  was  a 
great  finish  and  consistency  in  Helena's  presenta- 
tion of  herself  which  might  have  deceived  the  most 
neutral  and  heart-whole  of  observers. 

Such  was  the  first  impression :  then  suddenly  some 
instinct  that  lay  below  the  surface  surged  up  in 
rebellion  against  it,  and  washed  the  tender  colour- 
ing out.  It  told  him  that  the  impression  was  a 
false  one,  that  Jessie,  so  far  from  being  callous  and 
self-centred,  as  was  the  suggestion  conveyed  by 
Helena's  words,  was  of  faithful  and  golden  heart. 
And  then  looking  idly  over  the  crowd  that  was 
growing  thick  on  the  broad  gravel  walk,  he  suddenly 
caught  sight  of  Jessie  herself  looking  at  them.  She 
was  some  little  distance  behind  the  rails  that  sep- 


204  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

arated  the  ride  from  the  path,  and  she  instantly 
looked  away,  spoke  to  a  girl  who  was  with  her,  and 
strolled  on.  But  Archie  felt  quite  sure  that  she  had 
seen  them. 

He  turned  to  Helena. 

"Surely  that  is  Jessie,"  he  said  to  her  pointing 
with  his  stick. 

Helena  had  seen  her  also,  and  she  smiled  rather 
sadly,  rather  wistfully. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "But  she  doesn't  want  us, 
Archie." 

And  at  that  the  instinct  which  had  spoken  to  him 
so  emphatically  a  moment  before,  sank  out  of  hear- 
ing again,  and  the  colour  returned  to  Helena's  deft 
little  sketch. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

It  was  four  o'clock  on  an  afternoon  of  mid-July,  and 
the  westering  sun  had  begun  to  blaze  into  the  draw- 
ing-room windows  of  Colonel  Vautier's  house  in 
Oakland  Crescent.  It  was  pleasant  enough  there  in 
the  winter,  for  the  room  being  small,  was  easily 
heated,  but  in  the  summer  it  was  easily  over-heated 
and  grew  baked,  and  Helena,  sitting  by  the  open 
window  for  the  sake  of  any  air  that  might  wander 
into  this  narrow  space  miscalled  a  Crescent,  was 
obliged  to  pull  down  the  blinds.  She  had  tried  sit- 
ting in  her  father's  study,  but  that  had  an  infection 
of  stray  cigar  smoke  about  it  which  she  did  not  want 
to  catch,  and  the  dining-room  and  her  own  bedroom, 
since  they  faced  the  same  way  as  the  drawing-room, 
presented  no  counter-attractions.  So,  reluctantly, 
she  was  compelled  to  sit  here,  while  Jessie  with  a 
book  in  her  hand,  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
Jessie  had  a  slight  attack  of  hay  fever,  and  from 
time  to  time  indulged  in  a  fit  of  sneezing.  It  seemed 
to  Helena  that  she  was  being  very  inconsiderate:  it 
was  always  possible  to  stifle  a  sneeze.  But  Jessie 
never  thought  about  other  people.  Helena,  by  way 
of  waiting  patiently  at  Jessie's  door,  had  just  ex- 
pressed this  opinion  slightly  veiled,  and  she  was 
pleased  to  see  that  at  this  moment  Jessie  left  the 
room.  A  sound  of  sneezing  from  outside  indicated 
that  at  last  her  sister  had  grasped  how  exceedingly 
unpleasant  her  hay  fever  was  for  other  people. 

205 


206  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Then  there  came  the  sound  of  ascending  steps,  and 
she  guessed  that  Jessie  had  gone  to  her  bedroom. 
The  floors  were  wretchedly  thin  and  ill-constructed ; 
you  could,  from  any  room  in  the  house,  hear  move- 
ments from  any  other  room,  especially  since  Colonel 
Vautier  and  Jessie  had  such  solid  resounding  steps 
when  they  went  an3nvhere. 

Left  to  herself,  Helena  let  herself  go,  and  enu- 
merated her  causes  of  complaint  against  Providence, 
who  ought  to  have  been  so  kind  to  an  innocent  lov- 
ing little  soul.  In  the  first  place  her  father  had 
finished  his  irrigation  business  in  Egypt  unexpected- 
ly soon,  and  instead  of  arriving  in  London  about  the 
beginning  of  August  had  come  a  month  earlier  than 
the  most  pessimistic  could  have  expected.  The 
news  of  his  approaching  arrival  had  provoked  a  per- 
fect conspiracy  against  Helena's  comfort  and  her 
plans,  for  everyone,  including  Cousin  Marion,  who 
had  been  so  insistent  on  the  girls'  staying  in  Gros- 
venor  Square  till  the  end  of  July,  had  taken  it  for 
granted  that  they  would  at  once  rejoin  their  father. 
Surely  it  would  have  been  sufficient  for  Jessie  to  go 
(and  she  did  Jessie  the  justice  of  allowing  that  she 
was  perfectly  ready  to  do  so),  leaving  Helena  to  help 
Cousin  Marion  in  the  answering  of  her  letters  in  the 
morning  for  some  half  hour,  in  the  entertairjing  of 
her  numerous  guests,  and  in  accompanying  her  to 
any  of  those  pleasant  gaieties  which  swarmed  about 
that  desirable  house.  But  instead.  Cousin  Marion 
had  been  quite  unaware  to  all  appearance  of  the 
hints  Helena  had  subtly  suggested,  and  Archie  had 
been  equally  uncomprehending.  When  she  had  said, 
"This  house  seems  so  much  more  like  my  home  than 
any  other,"  he  had  certainly  glowed  with  pleasure, 
but  had  not  thought  it  was  meant  to  have  any  appli- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  207 

cation  with  regard  to  her  going  back  to  Oakland 
Crescent.  No  one  had  taken  her  hints;  it  had  oc- 
curred to  nobody  how  suitable  it  was  that  Jessie 
should  go  to  look  after  her  father,  and  Helena  re- 
main to  look  after  her  cousin.  But  since  her  hints 
were  not  taken,  Helena,  like  the  excellent  tactician 
she  was,  had  retreated  in  preference  to  standing  her 
ground  and  suffering  defeat.  She  had  to  retreat,  and 
she  retreated  with  exactly  the  proper  mixture  of 
regret  at  leaving  Grosvenor  Square  and  of  joy  at  her 
father's  premature  return.  And  when  his  taxicab 
drew  up  palpitating  at  the  door,  it  was  she  who  ran 
down  the  three  concrete  steps  from  the  front-door 
and  across  the  awful  little  dusty  yard  called  the  front 
garden  with  its  cinder  path  that  circulated  round 
one  laurel-bush,  and  flung  herself  into  his  arms,  and 
helped  the  parlour-maid  to  carry  in  his  bag,  while 
Jessie  waited  in  the  narrow  entrance  that  reeked  of 
the  ascending  fumes  of  dinner,  for  the  parlour-maid 
as  usual  had  left  open  the  door  at  the  head  of  the 
kitchen  stairs. 

There  was  a  grudge  against  Providence  even 
deeper  than  this  unnecessary  transplanting  of  her- 
self to  Oakland  Crescent,  when  she  might  so  com- 
fortably have  flourished  in  Grosvenor  Square. 
Archie  had  dined  with  them  two  nights  ago,  before 
taking  her  on  to  a  dance,  and  in  the  interval  that 
followed  dinner,  when  her  father  and  Archie  re- 
mained downstairs,  she  had  had  a  painful  scene  with 
Jessie.  Jessie  had  misunderstood  her  in  the  cruel- 
lest manner,  but  she  knew  that  her  real  complaint 
here  was  not  that  her  sister  had  cruelly  misunder- 
stood her,  but  had,  in  fact,  cruelly  understood  her, 
which  was  more  intolerable  than  any  misunder- 
standing could  have  been.    She  could  have  borne  a- 


208  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

misunderstanding  very  patiently,  but  to  be  under- 
stood was  of  the  nature  of  an  exposure,  of  a  kind 
scarcely  decent,  and  impossible  to  forget. 

It  had  begun  so  stupidly,  so  innocuously.  She  had 
but  left  a  few  orchids  on  her  dressing-room  table, 
and  Jessie,  who  naturally  was  not  going  to  the  dance, 
but  was  remaining  at  home  to  keep  her  father  com- 
pany, most  kindly  offered  to  get  them  for  her.  She 
came  down  again  so  ominously  silent  that  Helena 
had  asked  her  what  the  trouble  was,  and  it  appeared 
that  Jessie  had  seen  on  the  dressing-table  the  card 
of  Lord  Harlow  with  a  safety  pin  attached  to  it. 

"Yes,  darling,  why  not?"  Helena  had  said.  "He 
sent  me  those  lovely  orchids — thank  you  so  much 
for  getting  them.  He  is  going  to  be  there  to-night, 
and  as  he  sent  expressly  for  them  from  Harlow, 
naturally  I  shall  wear  them.  It  would  be  rude  not 
to,  don't  you  think?" 

Jessie  did  not  reply,  and  Helena  repeated  her 
question.  For  answer  Jessie  had  said  in  that  soft 
rich  voice  which  was  the  only  thing  that  Helena 
envied  her: 

"You  revolt  me." 

Helena  became  quite  cool  and  collected.  She 
might  represent  herself  as  being  tearful  and  pathetic 
at  the  thought  of  Jessie's  unkindness,  but  that  atti- 
tude was  useless  with  Jessie  herself  alone,  and  she 
never  adopted  it. 

"Oh!  May  I  ask  why  I  revolt  you?"  she  asked. 

"Certainly,  although  you  knew  already.  Archie 
is  in  love  with  you." 

Helena  adopted  the  phrases  of  affection.  She  did 
so  simply  to  irritate  her  sister. 

"Darling,  how  delicious  you  are,"  she  said.  "But 
mayn't  I  wear  a  flower  from  Tom,  Dick  or  Harry 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  209 

for  that  reason?  I  don't  grant  the  reason  for  a 
moment,  but  even  if  I  did,  what  then?  Besides, 
Archie  hasn't  given  me  any  flowers,  and  one  must 
have  flowers  at  a  dance." 

But  Jessie  refused  to  be  irritated.  Helena's  speech 
seemed  to  have  exactly  the  opposite  effect  on  her: 
she  became  gentle  and  apologetic. 

"I'm  sorry  I  said  that  you  revolted  me,"  she  said. 
"It  was  thoughtless  and  stupid.  But,  0,  Helena, 
you  are  so  thoughtless  too.  Do  forgive  me  for 
questioning  you,  but — but  are  you  intending  to 
marry  Lord  Harlow  if  he  asks  you?  If  so,  do  make 
it  clear  to  Archie,  before  things  get  worse,  that  you 
have  no  thought  of  him.  You  like  him,  don't  you? 
You  might  save  his  suffering." 

This  was  the  understanding,  not  the  misunder- 
standing, that  was  so  cruel.  But  Helena  was  quite 
ca^Dable  of  being  cruel  too.  She  smelled  her  orchids, 
and  pinned  them  into  her  gown.  Simultaneously 
she  heard  feet  on  the  stairs,  and  Archie's  resonant 
laugh.    She  got  up. 

"I  might  almost  think  you  were  jealous  of  me, 
darling,"  she  said  in  her  most  suave  tones. 

Before  the  door  opened  she  saw  Jessie's  face  flame 
with  colour,  and  laughed  to  herself  at  the  defence- 
lessness  of  love.  Next  moment  Archie  launched 
himself  into  the  room. 

"Hullo!  What  fine  orchids!"  he  said.  "Who  sent 
you  them,  Helena?  I  bet  you  the  Bradshaw  did. 
What  a  thing  it  is  to  have  opulent  admirers.  I 
wish  I  had  got  some." 

But  since  that  evening,  now  nearly  a  week  ago, 
Jessie  had  not  spoken  to  Helena  except  when  mere 
manners  in  the  presence  of  other  people  required  it. 
That  was  a  tiresome,  uncomfortable  situation;  in  a 


210         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

big  house  it  would  not  have  mattered  much,  for 
they  could  easily  have  sat  in  different  rooms,  but 
here  it  made  an  awkwardness  in  the  narrow  exis- 
tence. But  Helena  had  the  consolation  of  knowing 
that  she  had  not  merely  knocked  at  Jessie's  door, 
but  had  battered  it  in.  The  secret  chamber  stood 
open  to  her,  and  the  pitiful  nakedness  of  it  was 
revealed  before  unpitying  eyes. 

Here  then  were  two  grievances  against  the  world, 
that  might  have  taxed  the  patience  of  Job,  and 
certainly  super-taxed  the  patience  of  Helena.  On 
the  top  of  these,  Ossa  on  Pelion,  was  perched  an 
anxiety  that  had  begun  seriously  to  trouble  her,  for 
already  it  was  the  middle  of  July  and  Lord  Harlow 
had  as  yet  said  nothing  which  suggested  that  he  was 
going  to  propose  to  her.  She  knew  that  she  charmed 
and  captivated  him,  who  had  never  looked  seriously 
at  a  girl  twice  (nor  at  poor  Daisy  once),  but  he  was 
undeniably  a  long  time  making  up  his  mind,  and 
Helena,  though  accustomed  to  repose  the  greatest 
confidence  in  herself,  did  not  feel  sure  that  she 
would  prove  equal  to  defeating  the  long-standing 
habit  of  celibacy.  Even  the  continuous  use  of 
Archie  in  the  capacity  of  a  wedge  seemed  to  make  no 
impression,  and  she  was  beginning  to  be  desperately 
afraid  that  the  wedge  would  turn  in  her  hand  and 
ask  her  to  marry  him  before  Lord  Harlow  suc- 
cumbed. This  would  be  a  very  awkward  situation : 
most  inauspicious  developments  might  follow,  for 
it  would  be  tragic  if  she  accepted  Archie  and  Lord 
Harlow  proposed  immediately  afterwards,  while  if 
she  refused  Archie,  it  would  be  a  crown  of  tragedy 
if  Lord  Harlow  did  not  propose  at  all.  She  had  de- 
termined, in  fact,  if  Archie  proposed  first  to  ask  him 
to  wait  for  his  answer. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  211 

A  little  breeze  was  stirring  now  and  Helena  pulled 
up  the  blind  to  let  it  and  the  sun  enter  together 
rather  than  endure  this  stifling  stagnancy  any  longer, 
and  gazed  with  the  profoundest  disgust  at  the  mean 
outlook.  The  house  stood  in  the  centre  of  a  small 
curve  of  three-storied  buildings;  in  front  was  its 
little  square  of  cindery  walk  with  the  one  laurel  in 
the  middle,  and  a  row  of  iron  palings  with  a  gate 
that  would  not  shut  which  separated  it  from  the 
road.  On  the  other  side  of  that  was  a  small  demi- 
lune of  a  garden,  which  gave  the  place  the  title 
of  crescent,  and  beyond  that  a  straight  row  of  houses 
all  exactly  alike.  A  milkman  was  going  his  rounds 
with  alto  cries,  and  slovenly  cooks  and  parlour-maids 
came  out  of  area  gates  with  milk-jugs  in  their  hands. 
A  lean  and  mournful  cat,  as  unlike  as  possible  to 
the  sleek  smart  mouser  she  had  seen  at  the  station, 
with  dirty  dishevelled  fur,  sat  on  a  gate-post,  blink- 
ing in  the  sun,  and  every  now  and  then  uttering  a 
faint  protest  against  existence  generally.  Helena 
could  have  found  it  in  her  heart  to  mew  in  answer. 

The  hot  afternoon  wore  itself  away,  and  presently 
the  parlour-maid  came  in  to  lay  a  table  for  tea. 
This  entailed  a  great  many  comings-in,  and  a  great 
many  goings-out,  and  she  usually  left  the  door  open, 
so  that  there  oozed  its  way  up  the  stairs  a  mixed 
smell  of  cigars  and  incipient  cooking.  The  cigar- 
smell  came  from  the  little  back  room  adjoining  the 
dining-room  where  Colonel  Vautier,  with  tropical 
habits,  spent  the  hour  after  tiffin  (it  seemed  that 
he  could  not  say  "lunch")  in  dozings  and  smokings. 
Meantime  the  parlour-maid  came  in  and  out,  now 
with  a  large  brass  tea-tray,  to  place  on  the  table, 
now  with  plates  and  cups  and  saucers  to  put  on  it. 
She  breathed  strongly  through  her  nose,  and  wore 


212  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

a  white  apron  with  white  braces  over  her  sloping 
shoulders. 

From  outside,  during  these  trying  moments,  there 
came  the  sound  of  a  motor-horn,  and  immediately 
afterwards  the  soft  crunch  of  gravel  below  a  motor's 
wheels.  From  where  she  sat  Helena  could  look 
out  of  the  window,  and  from  her  torpid  discontent 
she  leaped  with  a  bound  into  a  state  of  alert  expect- 
ancy. She  hazarded,  so  to  speak,  all  the  small 
change  she  had  in  her  pocket.  For  a  moment  she 
put  her  slim  fingers  in  front  of  her  eyes  and  thought 
intensely.    Then  she  spoke  to  the  parlour-maid. 

"Take  a  tray  of  tea  to  Colonel  Vautier  in  his 
study,"  she  said,  "and  say  that  I  have  got  a  head- 
ache and  told  you  to  bring  his  tea  to  him  there.    Tell 

Miss  Jessie "     Helena  paused  a  moment — "tell 

her  that  a  friend  of  mine  has  come  to  see  me,  and 
that  I  want  to  talk  to  him  privately  here.  That's 
all:  now  open  the  door,  and  say  that  I  am  in." 

Helena  rushed  to  the  looking-glass  above  the  fire- 
place, and  disarranged  her  hair  a  little.  She  took  a 
book  at  random  out  of  the  shelves,  and  sat  down 
with  it.  She  heard  a  little  stir  in  the  hall  below, 
and  had  a  moment  of  agony  in  thinking  that  her 
father's  door  had  opened.  Then  the  stairs  creaked 
under  ascending  footsteps,  and  her  visitor  was  an- 
nounced. 

"Who?"  she  said,  as  the  parlour-maid  spoke  his 
name;  and  then  he  entered. 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  with  a  smile  that  was 
almost  incredulous. 

"But  how  lovely  of  you,"  she  said.  "I  am  de- 
lighted. What  a  business  you  must  have  had  to  find 
your  way  to  our  dear  little  slum." 

Her  hopes  rose  high:  he  looked  like  a  man  who 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  213 

had  made  up  his  mind.  He  was  clearly  nervous, 
but  it  was  the  nervousness  of  a  man  who  has  defi- 
nitely sat  down  in  the  dentist's  chair,  and  has  re- 
solved to  get  rid  of  that  aching.  He  sat  down  in 
the  chair  Helena  indicated,  and  looked  round  the 
room.  It  really  was  rather  pretty.  Helena  had  the 
knack  of  projecting  her  graceful  self  into  any  room 
she  much  used.  Archie  had  sent  a  hamper  of  roses 
only  this  morning. 

"Slum?"  he  said.  "I  should  like  to  live  in  this 
slum." 

Helena  looked  at  him  gravely. 

"Well,  there  is  a  spare  room,"  she  said,  "which 
we  can  let  you.  You  won't  mind  a  gurgling  cistern 
next  door,  will  you?  But  wasn't  it  lovely?  Daddy 
came  home  a  whole  month  earlier  than  I  had  ex- 
pected, so  I  flew  back  here  to  be  with  him.  Cousin 
■Marion  wanted  me  to  stop  with  her,  and  let  Jessie 
come  back.  It  was  sweet  of  her  to  want  me,  but 
how  could  I  rem.ain  when  Daddy  was  here?    Tea?" 

She  gave  him  his  cup,  and  continued  her  careful 
prattle. 

"So  of  course  I  flew  here,"  she  said.  "Sometimes 
I  rather  wish  that  a  fairy-prince  would  descend,  and 
pick  up  the  house,  and  put  it  somewhere  where  there 
weren't  quite  so  many  barrel-organs,  but  one  gets 
accustomed  to  everything.  I  think  Daddy  and 
Jessie  must  be  out.  They  planned  going  out  to- 
gether, I  know,  and  I  haven't  seen  either  of  them 
since  lunch.  They  are  such  dears!  They  are  so 
much  to  each  other!  Sometimes  I  should  get  a 
little  bit  jealous  of  each  of  them,  if  I  allowed  myself 
to.  Ah!  do  have  one  of  those  little  cakes.  They 
are  made  in  the  house:  you  probably  smelled  them 
as  you  came  upstairs.    How  lucky  I  asked  the  cook 


214  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

to  make  some  to-day.  Sometimes  she  is  cross,  and 
won't:  but  to-day  she  was  kind.  Did  she  have  a 
brain-wave,  do  you  think,  and  know  that  you  were 
coming?" 

He  ate  one  of  the  little  cakes  which  really  came 
from  the  pastry  cook's  just  round  the  comer,  and 
while  his  mouth  was  full,  Helena  proceeded  with 
her  talented  conversation.  She  was  working  at  full 
horse-power,  she  wanted  to  dazzle  without  intermis- 
sion. 

"I  daresay  all  the  people  who  were  so  friendly 
will  find  their  way  here  in  time,"  she  said,  "but  will 
you  pity  me,  just  in  a  superficial  way,  sometimes 
during  August?  Darling  Daddy  has  so  much  to  do 
at  the  Colonial  Ofi5ce,  or  the  Irrigation  Office,  or 
whatever  it  is,  that  he  will  have  to  be  here  all 
August." 

"But  he  won't  keep  you  in  London?"  asked  he. 

Helena  laughed. 

"Certainly  he  won't,  for  I  shall  keep  myself," 
she  said.  "I  shall  try  to  persuade  Jessie  to  go  down 
to  Lacebury  with  Cousin  Marion,  and  I  think  I 
shall  succeed.  And  where  will  you  be?  Up  in  Scot- 
land, I  suppose." 

He  put  down  the  end  of  the  cigarette  which 
Helena  had  given  him.  He  was  less  likely  if  he  was 
smoking  to  smell  the  faint  odour  of  cigar  that  had 
mounted  the  stairs.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact  he 
would  not  have  noticed  the  smell  of  burned  feathers 
just  then. 

He  turned  to  her  quickly. 

"I  shall  be — wherever  you  will  permit  me  to  be," 
he  said.  "But  wherever  that  is,  mayn't  we  be  to- 
gether? I  want  never  to  be  away  from  you  any 
more.    I  want  nothing  else  in  the  world  but  that." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  215 

Helena  raised  dewy  eyes  to  him. 

"Do  you  mean?  .  .  ."  she  began,  "do  you 
mean ?" 

"Yes.     And  I  want  your  answer." 

"That  is,  'yes/  too,"  she  said. 

She  had  an  ahnost  irresistible  desire  to  burst 
into  peals  of  laughter,  but  it  was  not  so  difficult  to 
transform  that  into  an  aspect  of  radiant  happiness. 
He  kissed  her,  and  she  could  feel  his  hands  laid  on 
her  shoulders,  trembling.  And  out  of  sheer  grati- 
tude she  found  herself  able  to  respond  quite  pass- 
ably, for  the  innate  respectability  of  passion  touched 
her.  He  had  paid  her  the  sincerest  compliment  that 
a  man  can  pay  a  girl,  in  expressing  his  desire  to  have 
her  always  with  him,  to  be  the  father  of  her  children, 
to  renounce  such  freedom  as  had  been  his,  and  to 
take  in  exchange  for  it  a  devoted  slavery.  And  since 
it  was  exactly  that  which  she  had  set  her  purposes  to 
accomplish,  it  was  no  wonder  that  she  was  content. 

But  as  soon  as  he  had  left  her  without  translating 
into  the  sphere  of  practical  arrangements  the  when 
and  how  of  their  mutual  pledge,  Helena  after  one 
tip-toe  dance  round  the  drawing-room  sat  down 
again  and  was  instantly  immersed  in  those  consider- 
ations. He  would  have  liked  to  dine  with  them  that 
night,  but  Archie  was  coming,  and  so,  before  he 
called  again  next  morning,  it  was  necessary  to  in- 
dulge in  careful  thought  so  as  to  produce  spontane- 
ous suggestion  next  day.  On  her  face  she  wore  the 
happiest  of  child-like  smiles,  and  throughout  her 
meditations  that  never  faded.  Occasionally  it  was 
as  if  the  sun  was  withdrawn  behind  some- fleece  of  a 
summer  cloud,  but  if  there  had  been  a  machine  for 
the  registration  of  sunshine,  there  would  scarcely 
have  been  a  break  in  the  record  of  serene  hours. 


216  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Archie  occupied  her  first;  she  was  sorry  for  Archie 
because  the  blow  that  this  would  be  to  him  glanced 
back  onto  her.  She  had  long  ago  made  up  her  mind 
not  to  marry  him  if  she  could  succeed  in  the  quest 
now  accomplished,  but  she  regretted  that  now  she 
would  never  see  his  eyes  glow  as  he  blurted  out — 
she  knew  he  would  blurt  it  out,  and  probably  kiss 
her  with  that  light  rough  eagerness  which  was  so 
characteristic  of  him — the  tale  of  his  love.  Not  so 
many  weeks  ago  at  Silorno  she  had  determined  to 
marry  him,  but  that  was  before  the  wider  horizon 
opened  to  her.  If  he  had  proposed  to  her  then,  she 
would  certainly  have  accepted  him,  and  she  felt, 
though  so  much  finer  a  future  had  now  dawned  on 
her,  a  sort  of  grudge  against  him  for  not  having  done 
so.  That  made  the  thought  of  telling  him  not  un- 
pleasant to  her,  there  was  an  excitement  in  the 
thought  of  seeing  his  blank  face — would  it  be  blank? 
She  thought  so  .  .  .  when  he  heard  her  news.  Per- 
haps the  sight  of  how  much  it  hurt  him  would  hurt 
her  also,  but  that  pain  would  somehow  enfold  a 
rapture,  for  it  would  be  clear  how  much  he  wanted 
her.  But  why  had  he  not  kissed  her,  when  they  sat 
on  that  last  evening  in  the  dark  garden  at  Silorno: 
all  might  have  been  different  then.  Never  till  this 
afternoon  had  a  man  kissed  her,  and  that  had  struck 
her  as  being  a  little  prim  and  proper.  Archie  would 
not  and  could  not  have  been  prim,  he  would  have 
been  quick  and  impulsive,  there  would  have  been 
something  romantic  about  it,  for  she  could  have 
supplied  that  gleam  of  romance  herself. 

There  had  been  fleecy  clouds  during  this  part  of 
her  meditation,  and  they  gathered  again,  ever  so 
light,  as  she  thought  of  Cousin  Marion  and  Jessie. 
Everybody  was  so  clever  now-a-days,  and  she  was 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  217 

afraid  that  Cousin  Marion  had  seen  that  Archie  was 
in  love  with  her,  even  as  Jessie  had  done.  It  would 
be  tiresome  if  they  behaved  censoriously  about  it, 
and  replied  frigidly  to  congratulations,  and  made 
cold  faces  at  the  wedding.  But  she  thought  she 
could  get  round  Cousin  Marion,  who,  from  expe- 
rience, she  knew  was  very  easily  convinced,  but  Jes- 
sie was  more  clear-sighted  .  .  .  And  then,  with  a 
sense  of  refreshment,  she  remembered  how  Jessie 
had  betrayed  herself  not  so  many  days  ago.  There- 
at the  sun  came  out  quite  serenely  again,  and  re- 
mained out  when  she  thought  of  her  father.  He 
loved  shooting,  and  Helena  determined  that  he 
should  enjoy  quantities  of  shooting.  He  loved 
all  sorts  of  the  nice  things  that  money  made  so  easily 
procurable,  comfort  and  good  cigars  and  riding  and 
bathrooms  attached  to  bedrooms.  Certainly  there 
should  be  a  delicious  room  for  him  in  all  her  houses, 
she  would  name  it  ''Daddy's  room."  The  filial  senti- 
mentality of  this  quite  overcame  her,  and  she  mur- 
mured "Darling  Daddy,"  and  felt  just  as  if  she  had 
sacrificed  herself  for  him  and  made  this  marriage  in 
order  to  secure  him  a  comfortable  old  age.  Bertie 
and  he  would  get  on  excellently  together;  they  could 
talk  about  tiger-shooting,  and  temples,  and  exotic 
affairs,  for  Bertie  was  a  great  traveller,  and  if  he 
wanted  to  travel  again,  she  had  no  intention  of  being 
an  apron-stringing  wife.  Marriage  became  a  sacri- 
lege rather  than  a  sacrament  if  it  was  an  affair  of 
watch-dogs  on  the  leash,  ready  to  follow  up  trails. 
And  again  she  softly  applauded  the  nobility  of  her 
sentiments. 

There  was  a  faint  stir  and  rattle  of  crockery  in  the 
room  below,  which  implied  that  the  parlour-maid 
was  removing  her  father's  tea.    Helena  knew  all  the 


218  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

noises  of  the  house,  down  to  the  gurgling  sound  that 
came  from  her  father's  bedroom  which  showed  that 
he  was  nearly  dressed,  and  now  correctly  interpret- 
ing the  chink  of  plate  and  tea-cup,  she  was  certain 
of  finding  him  in  his  study  with  his  after-tea  cigar. 
Very  likely  Jessie  had  gone  there  too,  for  she  often 
took  the  evening  paper  in  to  her  father  and  read 
him  the  news,  and  Helena  hoped  that  this  was  the 
case  to-day.  She  could  let  Jessie  know  the  event  of 
the  afternoon  with  less  embarrassment  if  there  was 
som.ebody  else  present.  She  could  tell  her  father  and 
Jessie  about  it  much  more  easily  than  she  could  tell 
Jessie  alone.  She  would  sit  close  to  him,  and  whis- 
per and  hide  her  head  .  .  .  her  sense  of  drama  would 
make  it  all  quite  simple. 

She  fastened  one  of  the  cream-coloured  roses  that 
Archie  had  brought  her  into  the  front  of  her  dress, 
and  went  down  to  her  father's  room.  It  was  a  stale 
little  apartment,  dry  and  brown  and  smoked  like 
a  kippered  herring,  furnished  chiefly  with  books  and 
files  and  decorated  with  the  produce  of  Oriental 
bazaars,  spears  and  shells  and  things  suggestive  of 
mummies.  He  was  in  a  big  basket  chair  close  to  the 
window,  and  in  the  window-seat,  as  she  had  hoped, 
sat  Jessie,  with  the  evening  paper. 

Helena  had  not  forgotten  that  she  had  sent  a  mes- 
sage to  him  that  she  had  a  headache,  and  to  Jessie 
that  a  friend  had  come  to  see  her  with  a  wish  for  a 
private  conversation.  She  made  these  little  plans 
quickly  perhaps  but  always  coolly,  and  remembered 
them  afterwards.  Sometimes  a  little  delicate  ad- 
justment was  necessary,  but  she  seldom  got  caught 
out  .  .  . 

"Darling  Daddy,"  she  said,  "may  I  pay  you  a 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  219 

little  visit?  Or  are  you  and  Jessie  engrossed  in 
something  I  shan't  understand?" 

"No,  come  in,  dear,"  said  he.  "How's  the  head- 
ache?" 

She  hovered  for  a  moment  like  some  bright  bird, 
and  then  perched  herself  on  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
between  him  and  her  sister. 

"It's  quite  gone,  ever  so  many  thanks,"  she  said. 
"I  think  I  must  have  had  a  little  snooze  just  before 
tea,  which  took  it  away.  And  then,  as  I  told  Jessie, 
somebody  came  here  especially  to  have  a  little  talk 
with  me.    Daddy,  how  delicious  your  cigar  smells." 

"And  who  was  your  visitor?"  he  asked. 

"Lord  Harlow,"  said  she  very  softly,  and  paused. 

Jessie  had  put  down  her  paper,  and  Helena  could 
feel  that  she  was  listening  in  tense  expectation.  She 
did  not  look  round  but  firmly  laid  her  hand  on  Jes- 
sie's, clasping  it.  The  other  she  tucked  into  her 
father's  arm,  and  leaned  her  head  against  his 
shoulder. 

"Daddy,  I  had  a  long  talk  with  him,"  she  said, 
"and  he  is  coming  here  again  to-morrow  morning. 
At  least,  he  did  the  talking,  and  I  only  spoke  when 
he  had  said  what  he  had  come  to  say.  Oh,  my  dear, 
I  am  so  happy,  so  awfully,  awfully  happy." 

Helena  felt  that  she  had  done  that  quite  beauti- 
fully. If  she  had  thought  about  it  for  ever  so  long, 
she  could  not  have  improved  on  it.  A  few  boister- 
ous ejaculations  from  her  father  followed,  and  find- 
ing that  Jessie  had  disengaged  her  hand,  she  com- 
pleted the  circle  round  her  father's  arm.  Then  pre- 
sently she  rose  with  smiling  and  suffused  face,  just 
kissed  him,  and  left  the  room. 

"Well,  I'm  sure  that's  the  best  bit  of  news  I've 
heard  for  a  long  time,"  he  said.    "Certainly  he  is  a 


220  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

good  bit  older  than  she,  but  there's  no  harm  in  that. 
I  was  twenty  years  older  than  your  mother,  Jessie. 
And  what  do  you  think  of  it  all?" 

"I  think  Helena  will  be  very  happy/'  said  Jessie. 

"So  do  I,  and  I'm  sure  she  deserves  to  be.  If  she's 
as  kind  and  loving  to  her  husband  as  she  has  been 
to  her  father,  we  shan't  hear  any  complaints.  Dear 
me!  What  a  bit  of  news!" 

He  was  silent  a  moment. 

"How  we  old  folk  get  out  of  touch  with  young 
people,"  he  said.  "If  I  had  been  told  to  guess  who 
it  was  who  would  ask  Helena  to  be  his  wife,  I  should 
have  said  it  was  Archie.  Didn't  you  think  that 
Archie  was  very  fond  of  her?" 

Mixed  with  Jessie's  misery  for  Archie's  sake  and 
with  her  bitter  contempt  for  her  sister  was  a  pity 
for  Helena,  as  deep  as  the  sea,  that  she  could  be 
what  she  was.  She  could  wear  the  roses  Archie  had 
sent  her,  and  not  be  burned  alive  by  them  .  .  . 

"I  never  thought  that  Helena  really  cared  for 
him,"  she  said  quietly. 

"No?  Well,  you  were  more  clear-sighted  than  I. 
But  I  fancy  Marion  thought  so  too.  He's  dining 
with  us  to-night,  isn't  he?  Or  will  Helena  put  him 
off?    And  are  we  to  say  anything  to  him  about  it?" 

"I  expect  Helena  will  tell  us  what  she  wishes," 
said  Jessie. 

He  laughed. 

"No  doubt  she  will.  She — what's  the  phrase — 
she  pulls  the  strings  in  this  piece,  doesn't  she?  Bless 
me,  it's  after  six  o'clock.  We  might  go  across  the 
bridge  and  have  a  stroll  in  Battersea  Park.  I  expect 
Helena  will  like  to  be  left  alone.    Yes;  what  is  it?" 

The  parlour-maid  had  come  in,  with  the  request 
that  Colonel  Vautier  would  go  to  see  Helena  for  a 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  221 

minute  now,  or  sometime  before  dinner.  Accord- 
ingly he  went  upstairs,  in  high  good  humour,  stura- 
bhng  on  the  carpet-rods. 

''Oh,  Daddy,  how  sweet  of  you  to  come  to  me  at 
once,"  she  said.  "Archie's  dining  here  to-night,  and 
I  think  I  will  tell  him  my  news  myself.  He's  such 
a  dear:  it  would  hurt  him  to  hear  it  from  anybody 
else." 

Colonel  Vautier  felt  that  he  had  perhaps  not  been 
so  wrong  after  all. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  that  is  kind  and  thoughtful  of 
you,"  he  said. 

"So  I'll  t-ell  him  as  soon  as  he  gets  here,"  said  she. 
"Will  you  and  Jessie  be  kind  and  let  me  have  just 
two  minutes  with  him?" 

Helena's  eyes  wandered  away  a  minute,  and  re- 
turned rather  dewy  to  her  father's  face. 

"Perhaps  you  would  tell  Jessie,"  she  said. 

She  opened  her  eyes  very  wide,  in  a  sort  of  child- 
like bewilderment. 

"I  wonder  why  Jessie  is  so  cold  to  me,"  she  said. 
"I  must  have  vexed  her  somehow  without  meaning 
it.  I  feel  sad  about  it.  She  did  not  say  one  word 
when  I  told  you  and  her  my  news:  she  did  not  kiss 
me  ...  " 

"Jessie  is  never  very  demonstrative,"  said  her 
father,  intending  to  speak  to  Jessie  about  this. 

"No:  perhaps  that's  all.  Thank  you  ever  so  much, 
Daddy." 

She  watched  them  going  out  together,  and  thought 
what  a  pity  it  was  that  some  people  were  so  frank 
as  to  say  that  others  revolted  them,  even  though 
they  apologised  afterwards.  It  never  paid  to  be 
coarse  and  rude  like  that  .  .  . 


222  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Helena  according  to  her  plan  was  in  the  drawing- 
room  among  his  roses  when  Archie  arrived. 

"It  was  delicious  of  you  to  send  them,"  she  said, 
"and  I've  got — something  for  you." 

"Hurrah!"  said  Archie.     "What  is  it?" 

She  had  put  a  half-sovereign  and  a  half-crown 
on  the  corner  of  the  mantel-piece,  and  handed  it  to 
him. 

"A  tip?"  he  said. 

"No ;  a  bet.    I  am  poor  but  honest." 

He  looked  at  the  money. 

"Twelve  and  six?"  he  said.  "When  did  you  bet 
me  twelve  and  six?" 

Helena  came  a  step  closer  to  him.  Even  in  the 
middle  of  London  there  was  something  of  sea  wind 
and  open  spaces  about  Archie. 

"Oh,  you  stupid  boy ! "  she  said.  "How  many  half- 
crowns  is  that?" 

Suddenly  Archie  remembered  the  wager  he  had 
made  with  her  one  morning  in  the  Park,  and  pock- 
eted the  money  with  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"Ha!  I  knew  I  should  win,"  he  said,  "but  it  wasn't 
nice  of  me  to  laugh.  I  take  back  the  laugh.  Poor 
old  Bradshaw.    Did  he  mind  much?" 

Helena  looked  at  him,  still  standing  close  to  him, 
smiling  and  in  silence.  She  really  found  him  most 
attractive  at  that  moment,  and  she  wondered  with 
how  changed  a  face  he  would  presently  look  at  her. 

"Yes,  he  proposed  to  me  this  afternoon,"  she  said, 
still  smiling,  and  still  looking  at  him. 

"Well,  poor  old  Bradshaw,"  said  Archie  once  more. 
But  he  did  not  say  it  with  quite  the  same  confidence. 

She  laid  her  hand,  that  soft  hand  with  sheathed 
claws,  on  his  arm. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  223 

"Archie,  aren't  you  going  to  wish  me  happiness?" 
she  asked. 

The  hnes  of  his  laughter  still  lingered  on  his  hand- 
some mouth,  but  now  they  were  merely  stamped 
there,  and  meant  nothing. 

"Wish  you  happiness?"  he  rapped  out  in  a  hard, 
snappish  voice. 

"Yes:  isn't  it  usual  between  friends?" 

"Do  you  mean  you've  accepted  him?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  my  dear.    Haven't  I  told  you?" 

"Is  it  a  joke?"  he  asked.    "Shall  I  laugh?" 

Helena  moved  a  little  away  from  him,  and  rang 
the  bell.  Archie  looked  so  strange.  She  had  ex- 
pected something  far  more  moving  and  dramatic 
than  this  wooden  immobility. 

"Tell  Colonel  Vautier  and  Miss  Jessie  that  Lord 
Davidstow  has  come,"  she  said  to  the  parlour-maid. 

Archie  said  nothing  till  the  door  had  closed  again. 
He  felt  also  that  he  was  made  of  wood,  that  every- 
thing was  made  of  wood,  he  and  Helena  and  the 
roses  he  had  sent,  and  the  Persian  rug  on  which  he 
stood.  And  when  he  spoke,  it  was  as  if  a  machine 
in  his  mouth  said  the  words  which  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  him. 

"I  congratulate  you,"  he  said.  "I  hope  you  will 
be  very  happy." 

Colonel  Vautier  entered :  he  had  been  to  the  cel- 
lar to  get  out  a  bottle  of  champagne  in  which  to 
drink  the  health  of  Helena  and  the  man  she  had 
chosen. 

"Good  evening,  my  dear  Archie,"  he  said.  "I 
know  Helena  has  told  you  her  news." 

Archie  shook  hands,  and  then  his  eyes  went  back 
to  Helena  again.  She  had  never  looked  more  en- 
trancingly  pretty,  but  she  was  made  of  wood.    And 


224  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

then  Jessie  came  in :  they  were  all  there,  and  dinner 
was  ready  and  down  they  went.  In  this  wooden 
world  everything  went  on  in  precisely  the  same  way 
as  it  had  done  when  people  were  made  of  flesh  and 
blood.  Some  cunning  mechanical  contrivance  en- 
abled them  to  talk  and  smile  and  eat:  food  tasted 
the  same  and  so  did  the  champagne  in  which  pres- 
ently they  drank  Helena's  health.  It  was  the  same 
prickly  bubbly  stuff  with  a  little  sting  in  it  that  he 
so  seldom  drank.  But  it  unfroze  the  surface  of  the 
stricture  that  bound  him,  as  when  the  first  stir  of  a 
thawing  wind  moistens  the  surface  of  ice.  He  be- 
gan to  feel  again;  to  be  conscious  that  somewhere 
within  him  was  a  deep  well  of  the  waters  of  pain. 
But  anything  was  better  than  that  cataleptic  insen- 
sibility, which  was  like  being  unconscious  and,  all 
the  time,  knowing  that  he  was  unconscious. 

They  were  not  going  out  that  night,  and  after 
dinner  they  sat  down  to  a  rubber  of  bridge,  in  which 
as  usual  Helena  took  Archie  as  a  partner,  because 
she  always  insisted  that  she  could  form  some  idea 
of  the  principles  on  which  he  played,  whereas  the 
other  two  but  wandered  in  a  starless  and  Cimmerian 
gloom  when  mated  with  him.  But  Helena  claimed 
that  her  spiritual  affinity  with  Archie  enabled  her 
to  perceive  that  when  he  declared  hearts,  he  wished 
her  to  understand  that  he  hadn't  got  any,  and  that 
she  would  do  well  to  declare  something  different. 
"Bridge  properly  understood,"  Archie  had  enun- 
ciated once,  ''is  a  form  of  poker:  you  must  bewilder 
and  terrify  your  adversary.  And  then  the  fun  be- 
gins, and  you  get  fined."  What  added  to  the  hilarity 
was  the  concentrated  seriousness  which  Jessie  and 
her  partner  brought  to  bear  on  the  game,  and  the 
miser's  greed  and  avaricious  eye  with  which  Jessie 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  225 

was  popularly  supposed  to  see  her  score  mounting. 
All  these  jokes,  these  squibs  of  light-hearted  non- 
sense were  there  to-night,  but  there  was  nothing 
behind  them;  it  was  as  if  the}^  were  spoken  from 
habit,  a  frigic  rehearsal  of  some  pithless  drama  was 
going  on;  they  were  tinsel  flowers  stuck  into  arid 
and  seedless  ground,  and  sprang  no  longer  from  the 
warm  earth. 

The  sense  of  wooden  unreality  soon  began  to  close 
in  again  on  Archie  with  that  utter  absence  of  feeling 
which  was  so  far  more  terrible  than  any  feehng  could 
be,  that  soulless  insensitiveness  as  of  a  live  con- 
sciousness that  knew  it  was  dead,  and  he  rose  from 
the  table  after  Helena  had  delivered  him  from  the 
consequence  of  some  outrageous  declaration,  and 
went  across  to  a  side-table  v/here  were  placed  sy- 
phons and  spirits.  But  now  instead  of  pouring  him- 
self out  a  glass  of  soda  water,  he  half-filled  his  tum- 
bler with  whiskey,  and  but  added  a  cream  of  bubble 
on  the  top  of  it.  Immediately  almost  his  sense  of 
touch  with  life  returned;  then  stole  back  into  him- 
self and  the  figures  of  Colonel  Vautier  and  Jessie,  the 
perception  of  their  several  identities,  and  into  He- 
lena the  love  with  which  he  had  endowed  her.  But 
that  and  all  that  it  implied  was  better  than  feeling 
nothing  at  all.  He  knew,  too,  that  when  Jessie  spoke 
to  him  or  looked  at  him,  her  voice  and  her  eyes  held 
for  him  a  supreme  and  infinite  sympathy.  He  could 
not  reach  it,  but  he  knew  it  was  there.  Perhaps 
when  he  got  used  to  those  new  conditions  of  night- 
mare existence  he  could  make  it  accessible,  get  into 
touch  with  it.  At  present  he  scarcely  wanted  it ;  he 
wanted  nothing  so  long  as  this  perception  of  life  still 
ran  in  his  brain,  except  Helena.  He  thought  that 
she  rather  pitied  him  too,  but  it  was  not  her  pity  he 


226  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

wanted,  for  it  was  she  who  had  brought  her  pity  on 
himself. 

They  played  two  or  three  rubbers,  Jessie's  miserly 
greed  was  assuaged  by  precisely  the  sum  that  Archie 
had  won  from  Helena,  and  Colonel  Vautier  after 
seeing  him  out  went  back  to  his  study  to  indulge 
himself  in  the  cigar  which  was  not  permitted  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  the  two  sisters  were  left  there. 
Helena's  brain  had  long  been  busy  beneath  the  ha- 
bitual jests  of  their  game,  over  her  future  relations 
with  Jessie,  and  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  sooner  they  talked  the  matter  out  the  better. 
She  found  that  it  affected  her  comfort  to  be  prac- 
tically not  on  speaking  terms  with  her  sister,  and 
since  she  had  no  shrinking  from  what  might  be  a 
painful  interview  for  others,  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  ascertain  exactly  how  Jessie  meant  to  be- 
have to  her  in  the  few  weeks  for  which  they  would 
be  in  close  daily  and  hourly  contact,  for  Lord  Harlow 
had  expressed  his  mind  very  clearly  about  an  early 
date  for  their  wedding,  and  Helena  entirely  agreed 
with  him. 

Jessie,  on  her  part,  could  scarcely  manage  to  think 
about  her  sister  at  all.  With  Archie  in  front  of  her 
all  evening  she  had  barely  been  conscious  of  any- 
thing but  his  bitter  and  miserable  disillusionment, 
his  awakening  from  the  dream  that  had  become  so 
real  to  him.  She  was  still  seated  at  the  card  table, 
and  with  that  need  for  trivial  employment  which  so 
often  accompanies  emotional  crises  she  was  building 
a  house  with  the  cards  they  had  been  using,  devoting 
apparently  her  whole  faculties  to  its  breathless  con- 
struction. The  strong  beautiful  hands  which  Archie 
had  never  noticed  hovered  over  it,  alighting  with 
their  building  materials,  putting  each  card  delicately 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  227 

and  firmly  in  place,  and  her  grave  face  watched  the 
ascendmg  stories,  as  if  Babylon  the  Great  was  rising 
again  for  the  marvel  of  mankind.  Then  Helena  sat 
down  by  her,  and  leaning  her  arm  on  the  table  caused 
a  vibration  that  demolished  Babylon  from  garret  to 
cellar. 

*'0h.  Jessie,  I'm  so  sorry,"  she  said,  and  she  was: 
the  fall  of  an  ingenious  card  house  was  the  sort  of 
thing  that  provoked  her  pity. 

Jessie  swept  the  cards  together  and  seemed  about 
to  get  up. 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  she  said.  "It  is  bed-time, 
isn't  it?" 

Helena  put  her  head  wistfully  on  one  side. 

"Aren't  you  being  horribly  unkind  to  me?"  she 
said.  She  did  not  suppose  it  was  much  use  playing 
on  the  pathetic  stop,  that  made,  as  a  general  rule, 
so  insincere  a  bleating  in  her  sister's  ears,  but  it  was 
worth  trying. 

"I  don't  think  there  is  any  use  in  talking,  Helena," 
she  said.  "If  I  am  unkind,  if  I  can't  bear  what  you 
have  done,  it  is  because  I  simply  can't  help  it." 

Helena  fingered  the  debris  of  the  card-house  with 
those  more  delicate  fingers  that  could  caress  and 
claw  so  exquisitely.  Essentially,  she  cared  not  one 
atom  what  Jessie  thought  of  her,  but  she  wanted  not 
to  be  uncomfortable  for  the  next  few  weeks. 

"Ah,  that  is  it?"  she  added.  "You  are  satisfied  to 
hate  and  detest  me  because  you  can't  help  it.  That 
seems  to  you  a  final  and  unanswerable  excuse.  But 
nobody  else  may  do  anything  because  she  can't  help 
it." 

"But  you  could  have  helped  what  you  have  done," 
said  Jessie.    "You  made  Archie  think  you  cared  for 


228         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

him.  You  let  him  fall  in  love  with  you  on  that  as- 
sumption." 

"He  let  himself  fall  in  love  with  me,"  said  Hel- 
ena.   "That  was  not  my  fault.    Besides  ..." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  weaving  delicate  spider 
threads  in  her  mind.  She  really  wanted  to  propitiate 
Jessie  just  now,  otherwise  she  would  certainly  have 
reminded  her  that  she  anyhow  had  allowed  herself 
to  fall  in  love  with  Archie,  but  would  not  say  that 
was  Archie's  fault.  It  would  have  been  rather 
amusing  to  suggest  that,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  tend 
towards  reconciliation.  She  bent  her  graceful  head 
a  little  lower  over  the  fallen  card-house.  It  had 
collapsed  with  tragic  suddenness  even  as  Archie  had 
collapsed. 

"Besides,"  she  went  on,  "it  was  open  to  Archie  to 
propose  to  me.  He  did  not.  We  were  several  weeks 
together  at  Silorno.  And  then  I  came  to  London  and 
met  Bertie.  Was  it  my  fault  that  I  fell  in  love  with 
him?    I  think  you  are  horribly  unkind  to  me." 

Jessie  came  a  step  nearer. 

"Are  you  in  love  with  him?"  she  asked.  "If  you 
tell  me  you  are  in  love  with  him  ..." 

"Do  you  think  I  should  marry  him  if  I  was  not?" 
asked  Helena,  looking  the  picture  of  limpid  child- 
like innocence. 

Jessie  made  no  reply.  She  could  not  say  that  she 
believed  Helena  was  in  love  with  him,  though  she 
was  assuredly  going  to  marry  him.  She  could  not 
tell  a  lie  of  that  essential  kind;  merely  the  words 
would  not  come. 

"If  I  have  wronged  you  in  any  way,  Helena,"  she 
said  at  length,  "I  am  most  sincerely  sorry  for  it.  I 
ask  your  forgiveness  unconditionally." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  229 

Helena  rose,  wreathed  in  tender  smiles  and  liquid 
eyes. 

"Darling,  you  have  my  forgiveness  with  all  my 
heart,"  she  said.  "And  may  I  ask  you  one  thing? 
Will  you  try  to  feel  a  little  more  kindly  towards  me? 
If  you  only  knew  how  your  unkindness  hurts  me." 

But  Jessie,  lying  awake  that  night,  striving  with 
all  the  sincerity  that  permeated  her  from  skin  to 
marrow,  to  make  the  effort  that  Helena  had  asked 
of  her,  made  no  headway  at  all.  She  utterly  dis- 
trusted and  disbelieved  her.  And  somewhere  lying 
beneath  the  darkness  of  the  windless  night  was 
Archie,  for  whose  happiness  she  would  have  given 
her  heart's  last  blood.  But  all  of  it  would  not  help 
him  one  atom,  while  he,  in  the  perverse  dispensa- 
tions of  destiny,  wanted  only  what  he  could  not  get, 
Helena's  love.  He  could  not  get  it  because  it  did  not 
exist.  She  did  not  love,  the  faculty  had  been  denied 
her. 

Suddenly  she  felt  frightened  about  Archie.  He 
had  sunk  somewhere  out  of  reach;  a  lid  had  shut 
down  on  him.  Once  or  twice  it  had  seemed  to  lift 
for  a  moment,  and  she  remembered  what  made  it 
lift. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Late  one  afternoon  about  a  week  after,  Archie  was 
sitting  with  his  old  nurse  Blessington  in  the  room 
that  had  once  been  his  day-nursery.  He  had  left 
London  the  day  after  Helena  had  so  honourably  paid 
him  the  five  half-crowns  he  had  won  from  her,  and 
since  then  he  had  been  living  here  alone  with  his 
father.  This  evening  his  mother  and  Jessie  were 
coming  down  from  town,  his  mother  to  remain  here 
till  she  went  up  to  London  again  for  Helena's  wed- 
ding which  had  been  fixed  for  the  end  of  the  first 
week  in  August,  while  Jessie  was  but  coming  for  a 
long  week-end.  Helena  remained  in  town,  where 
she  was  very  busy  shopping  and  unpacking  the  love- 
ly presents  which  Lord  Harlow  sent  or  brought  to 
her,  morning,  noon  and  night.  They  were  really 
delightful  presents,  and  the  material  of  them  was 
large  precious  stones,  exquisitely  set. 

Archie  had  long  made  it  a  habit,  when  he  was  at 
home,  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  old  nurse  before  he  went 
to  dress  for  dinner.  She  had  become  housekeeper, 
after  the  fledging  of  the  family,  and  now  half-way 
through  the  decade  of  her  seventies,  did  little  more, 
when  Archie  was  away,  then  sit  white-haired  and 
stately  with  her  sewing  or  her  knitting  and  feel  that 
she  was  very  busy.  But  when  Archie  came  home 
she  would  burst  into  violent  activities  and  consti- 
tute herself  his  nurse  again,  to  whom  he  was  always 
"Master  Archie"  and  quite  a  little  boy  still.    It  mat- 

230 


ACROSS  THE  STREAJM  231 

tered  not  one  rap  to  her  that  he  had  his  own  valet, 
none  other  indeed  than  William,  who  in  days  gone 
by  had  fished  him  out  of  the  lake  and  received  a 
gold  watch  and  chain  for  the  rescue,  for  Blessington 
was  always  in  and  out  of  his  room,  taking  coats 
and  trousers  away  to  have  buttons  more  securely  ad- 
justed, and  loading  her  work-basket  with  piles  of  his 
socks  and  underclothing  in  which  her  eyes,  still 
needle-sharp  for  all  her  seventy-five  years,  had  de- 
tected holes  that  required  darning.  This  habit  of 
hers  sometimes  drove  William  nearly  mad,  for  Bless- 
ington would  take  away  all  Archie's  washing  when 
it  came  back  from  the  laundry,  in  order  to  inspect  it 
thoroughly,  and  when  his  distracted  valet  wanted 
clean  clothes  and  applied  to  her  for  them,  she  would 
ofteii  entirely  forget  that  she  had  taken  them  and 
firmly  deny  the  appropriation.  Then  William  would 
craftily  manage  to  get  her  to  open  her  cupboard 
door,  and  lo,  there  was  all  Archie's  clean  linen.  And 
Blessington  would  exclaim,  "Eh,  I  must  have  taken 
it  and  it  went  out  of  my  head."  Or  she  would  ab- 
stract his  sponge  from  the  bath-room  in  order  to 
put  a  stitch  into  it,  and  Archie,  sitting  in  his  bath, 
would  find  nothing  to  wash  himself  with.  But 
Blessington  was  a  sacred  and  a  beloved  institution, 
and  as  long  as  she  was  happy  (which  she  most  un- 
doubtedly was  when  Archie  was  there  to  look  after 
and  inconvenience!)  no  one  minded  these  magpie- 
annexations  of  portable  property. 

Of  all  hours  in  the  day  Blessington  loved  best  this 
evening  visit  of  Archie's,  when  he  sat  among  the 
tokens  of  his  childhood,  the  play-table  which  now 
scarcely  reached  up  to  his  knees,  the  little  arm-chair 
with  its  bar  of  wood  strung  through  the  arm  so  aa 


232  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

to  imprison  and  guard  the  sitter,  the  box  of  oak- 
bricks  with  which  he  used  to  build  houses  of  amaz- 
ing architecture,  the  depleted  regiments  of  lead- 
soldiers  which  still  stood  on  the  mantel-shelf.  Her 
great  delight  was  to  recall  to  him  the  days  of  his 
childhood,  his  naughtinesses,  the  scrapes  he  got  into, 
the  whole  patchwork  of  memories  that  retained  still 
such  lively  and  beloved  colouring.  And  for  him,  too, 
during  this  last  week,  there  had  been  in  these  talks 
a  way  of  escape  from  this  nightmare  of  his  present 
experience;  it  was  he  himself,  after  all,  who  had  put 
the  coals  on  his  mother's  hearth  rug,  had  fished  for 
pike  with  William,  had  attended,  in  rapturous  trep- 
idation, the  advents  of  Abracadabra.  These  days 
seemed  much  further  off  from  him  than  they  did 
from  her,  for  a  bitter  impassible  water  lay  between 
them  and  him,  while  for  her  they  had  only  receded 
a  little  further  into  the  placid  and  sunny  distance 
of  her  days.  But  when  he  talked  them  over  with 
her  he  could  recapture  a  dreamlike  illusion  of  get- 
ting back  into  a  life  of  which  the  most  alarming  fea- 
ture was  the  presence  of  his  father.  Over  every- 
thing else  there  hung  enchantment. 

He  was  sitting  now  in  Blessington's  rocking-chair, 
having  tried  without  success  to  squeeze  himself  into 
the  imprisoning  seat  of  his  childhood,  and  she  was 
recalling  the  awful  episode  of  the  burnt  rug. 

"Eh,  whatever  possessed  you  to  go  and  do  it,"  she 
said.  "I  can't  understand  to  this  day.  Master  Archie. 
I'm  speaking  of  when  you  set  fire  to  your  Mamma's 
rug." 

"Tell  me  about  that,"  said  Archie. 

"Well,  it  was  on  an  afternoon  when  you  had  a 
cold,  and  your  Mamma  had  allowed  you  to  sit  in  her 
room  while  she  went  out  driving.    And  what  must 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  233 

you  do  but  empty  all  the  fire  from  the  hearth  onto 
her  rug.  You  nearly  got  a  whipping  for  tliat  from 
your  Papa!" 

Archie  remembered  that  moment  quite  well,  and 
how  he  had  stood  in  his  father's  study,  frightened 
but  defiant,  and  refusmg  to  say  he  was  sorry  when 
he  was  not.  Then  his  mother  had  come  in  and  had 
pointed  to  a  bottle  on  the  table,  and  told  his  father 
that  he  ought  to  learn  his  lesson  first  before  he  gave 
Archie  one  .  .  .  That  had  puzzled  him  at  the  time, 
though  it  w^as  clear  enough  now.  His  father  still 
had  that  lesson  to  learn,  and  Archie  during  this  last 
week  had  begun  to  understand  a  little  why  his  father 
had  not  yet  learned  it,  if  learning  it  implied  the  giv- 
ing up  of  all  that  bottles  stood  for. 

He  recalled  himself  w^ith  a  jerk;  he  wanted  to  get 
back  into  the  enchanted  land  which  Blessington's 
reminiscences  suggested. 

"Yes,  that  hearth-rug,"  he  said.  "That  was  a  bad 
business,  wasn't  it,  Blessington?  What  do  you  think 
put  it  into  my  head  to  empty  the  fire  onto  it?" 

"Bless  the  boy,  I  don't  know,"  said  Blessington. 
"It  was  just  mischief." 

"Yes,  but  what's  mischief?"  asked  Archie. 

Blessington  was  a  simple  and  direct  theologian. 

"Well,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it's  doing  what  Sapum 
wants  you  to  do,"  said  she,  Sapum  being  her  equiva- 
lent of  the  Arch-enemy. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  either,"  said  Archie.  "But 
it's  rather  beastly  of  Sapum  to  take  possession  of  a 
very  small  boy  with  a  bad  cold  in  the  head." 

"Eh,  he  takes  possession  of  us  all,  if  we  Jet  him," 
observed  Blessington.  "But  that  was  the  naughtiest 
thing  you  ever  did,  dear.  I  wouldn't  lay  it  up  to  you 
now." 


234  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

*'Was  I  good  as  a  rule?"  asked  he. 

"Yes,  Master  Archie,  for  a  boy  you  were,"  said 
Blessington.  "Boys  are  more  trouble  than  girls,  as 
is  natural  and  proper." 

"But  doesn't  Sapum  enter  into  girls,  too?"  asked 
he,  with  another  thought  in  his  mind. 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  but  not  so  violent-like.  And 
when  after  that  you  were  took  ill,  and  we  all  went 
out  to — eh,  what's  the  name  of  that  place  in  Switzer- 
land— I  must  say  you  were  wonderfully  good.  It 
was  as  if  some  angel  took  possession  of  you,  not  one 
of  Sapum's  flibbertigibbits.  You  were  no  trouble  at 
all,  and  see  how  quick  you  got  well." 

Archie  rocked  himself  backwards  and  forwards 
for  a  minute  in  silence. 

"I  wish  I  could  remember  Martin,"  he  said  at 
length.    "Tell  me  something  about  Martin." 

"Eh,  dear  lamb!"  said  she.  "Couldn't  he  be 
naughty  too,  when  the  fit  took  him!  But  then  he 
got  ill,  and  many's  the  time  when  I've  longed  for 
him  to  be  naughty  again,  and  he  hadn't  the  spirit 
for  it.  He  didn't  want  to  die,  and  right  up  to  the 
end  he  thought  he'd  get  better.  Your  papa  never 
loved  any  one  like  he  loved  him  and  nobody  could 
help  loving  him.  He  was  like  a  April  morning,  dear, 
sunshine  one  minute  and  squalls  the  next.  And 
there  was  months.  Master  Archie,  when  we  thought 
you  would  follow  him." 

Blessington  grew  a  little  tearful,  with  the  sweet 
easy  tears  of  old  age,  over  this,  and  Archie  changed 
the  subject. 

"And  Abracadabra  now?"  he  asked.  "What  eve- 
nings those  birthday  evenings  were,  weren't  they? 
I  wish  Abracadabra  came  still,  bringing  aU  we 
wanted.    What  would  you  choose,  Blessington?" 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  235 

Blessington  beamed  again. 

"Eh,  I  know  what  I'd  choose,"  she  said.  "I'd 
choose  a  nice  young  lady  to  come  here,  and  you  and 
she  take  a  fancy  to  each  other,  dear.  That's  what 
I'd  choose.  Isn't  there  some  nice  young  lady,  Master 
Archie?" 

Archie  stopped  his  rocking  for  a  moment,  and  a 
bitter  word  was  on  the  end  of  his  tongue.  Then 
he  smiled  back  at  his  nurse's  radiant  face. 

"I'm  going  to  marry  you,  Blessington,"  he  said, 
"when  you're  old  enough.  Don't  you  go  flirting  with 
anybody  else  now." 

Blessington  gave  a  little  cackle  of  soft  toothless 
laughter. 

"Well,  I  never,"  she  said.  "Who  ever  heard  such 
a  thing?" 

"Well,  you've  heard  of  it  now,"  said  he.  "Bless- 
ington, I  believe  there's  somebody  else  after  you. 
I  say,  did  you  ever  have  any  lovers  once  upon  a 
time?" 

Blessington  looked  solemn  again. 

"Well,  there  was  your  Papa's  game-keeper  once," 
she  said,  "who  made  a  silly  of  himself,  as  if  I'd  got 
nothing  better  to  do  than  go  and  marry  him.  I 
didn't  suffer  any  of  his  nonsense  .  .  .  And  there's 
the  sound  of  the  motor.  That'll  be  your  Mamma 
and  Miss  Jessie  coming.  There's  a  nice  young  lady 
now!" 

"Do  you  like  her  better  than  Miss  Helena?"  asked 
Archie. 

Blessington  nodded  her  head  very  emphatically. 

"Not  that  I  say  she  isn't  a  nice  young  lady  too," 
she  said  mysteriously. 

"What's  the  matter  with  her  then?"  asked  Archie. 

Blessington  looked  the  incarnation  of  discretion. 


236         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"I  say  nothing,"  she  said.  "But  there's  some  as 
are  artful,  and  some  as  are  not.  Now,  my  dear,  you 
must  go  and  see  your  Mamma,  or  she'll  be  wonder- 
ing where  you  are." 

"I'm  with  my  young  woman,"  said  Archie. 

"There!  Get  along  with  you,"  said  Blessington. 
"Eh,  Master  Archie,  I  love  a  talk  over  old  times  with 
you." 

Archie  went  reluctantly  away  to  greet  his  mother 
and  Jessie,  for  these  talks  with  Blessington  had  be- 
come to  him  a  sort  of  oasis  in  this  weary  wilderness 
of  scorching  sand  through  which  he  had  to  travel 
all  day  and  for  many  hours  of  the  night.  She  was 
the  comforter  of  the  troubles  of  his  earliest  child- 
hood, it  was  she  who  had  always  been  by  him  if 
some  nightmare  snatched  him  from  sleep,  or  if  the 
dark  developed  terrors,  and  that  habit  of  calling  on 
her  for  aid,  established  among  the  mists  of  dawning 
consciousness,  he  found  still  alive  as  an  instinct  when 
there  came  on  him  now  the  maturer  woes  of  love 
and  manhood.  Throughout  his  school  life  and  his 
three  years  at  Cambridge,  he  had  never  quite  let 
go  of  Blessington's  hand,  which  had  been  the  first 
to  direct  and  sustain  his  tottering  attempts  at  loco- 
motion. Now,  too,  she  was  the  only  member  of  his 
immediate  circle  who  did  not  know  of  his  trouble, 
and  it  was  an  unutterable  relief  to  feel  that  he  was 
not  being  pitied  and  sympathised  with  by  somebody. 
For,  though  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  better  than 
sympathy  and  pity,  no  sufferer  smarting  from  a 
recent  wound  wants  to  live  exclusively  in  such  sur- 
roundings. Pity  and  sympathy,  though  they  heal, 
yet  they  touch  the  wound,  and  he  never  got  over 
the  impression  when  he  was  with  his  mother,  for 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  237 

instance,  that  his  wound  was  being  dressed  .  .  . 
Jessie  did  not  force  that  on  him  so  much,  yet  with 
her  he  was  always  being  reminded  of  the  fact  that 
she  was  Helena's  sister.  But  with  Blessington  he 
could  go  back  into  the  sunlight  of  the  past;  and 
talk  with  her,  and  another  occupation,  temporary, 
he  told  himself,  to  tide  him  over  those  days,  enabled 
him  to  get  away  to  some  extent,  from  himself. 

He  met  his  mother  in  the  hall,  and  instantly  those 
anxious  eyes  of  love,  which,  for  all  his  affection  for 
her,  he  found  irritating,  were  on  him.  She  was  at 
his  wound  again,  taking  off  the  bandages,  seeing 
how  it  was  getting  on.  .  .  . 

"And  how  are  you,  darling?"  she  said  looking  at 
him  with  the  tenderness  that  got  on  his  nerves. 

Archie  kissed  her. 

"I  am  quite  w^ell,  thanks,"  he  said.  "I  have  just 
been  having  a  talk  with  Blessington." 

"My  dear,  how  she  would  like  that,"  said  Lady 
Tintagel,  with  eager  cordiality.  "That  was  thought- 
ful of  you." 

Archie  jerked  himself  away  from  her;  though  his 
mother  said  nothmg  direct,  he  felt  that  pity  filled 
her  mind.  He  was  in  its  presence  and  longed  to  get 
away  from  it.  All  the  time  another  distinct  piece 
of  his  mind  wanted  to  hear  about  Helena.  But  he 
could  not  ask  any  question  about  her. 

"How  are  you,  Archie?"  said  the  girl,  quietly. 

Archie's  exasperation  suddenly  flared  up. 

"I  have  just  told  my  mother  I  am  very  well,"  he 
said.    "I  am  still  very  well,  thank  you." 

Jessie  laughed;  she  managed  better  than  Lady 
Tintagel. 

"In  that  case  come  and  have  a  game  of  golf-cro- 
quet with  me,"  she  said.    "There's  time  before  we 


238  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

need  dress,  isn't  there?  I  do  want  some  air  so  badly- 
after  town." 

Archie  glanced  at  the  clock,  he  usually  went  to 
his  father's  study  about  this  time,  when  they  cele- 
brated the  approaching  advent  of  dinner  ydth  a 
cocktail  or  two.  That  was  the  beginning  of  the  tol- 
erable part  of  the  day;  there  was  plenty  of  wine  at 
dinner,  and  afterwards  a  succession  of  whiskies  and 
sodas,  and  to  be  alive  became  quite  a  bearable  con- 
dition again.  On  that  first  evening  when  Helena 
had  told  him  her  news  and  paid  her  half-crowns,  he 
had  found  that  alcohol  broke  down  his  sense  of  being 
stunned,  of  being  made  of  wood.  Now  he  drank  for 
another  reason ;  by  drink  he  got  rid  of  the  misery  of 
normal  consciousness  and  emerged  into  some  sort  of 
life  again.  It  stimulated  his  brain,  he  could  by  its 
means  escape  for  a  little  from  that  one  perpetual 
thought  of  Helena  that  went  round  in  his  head  like 
a  stick  in  a  backwater,  and  get  into  the  current 
again.  Sometimes  he  would  go  to  his  room,  taking 
a  whiskey  and  soda  with  him,  and  wrestle  with  the 
sea-sketches  he  had  so  enthusiastically  worked  at  at 
Silomo.  By  degrees  the  liquid  in  his  glass  ebbed, 
and  his  pile  of  cigarette  ends  mounted,  and  he  would 
go  back  for  fresh  supplies.  But  while  these  hours 
lasted,  he  lived,  and  what  to-morrow  should  bring 
he  did  not  in  the  least  care.  He  could  escape  for  a 
few  hours  now,  and  that  was  sufficient.  Also,  when 
he  went  to  bed,  he  could  sleep  heavily  and  dream- 
lessly. 

There  was  still  time  for  a  game  with  Jessie  before 
going  in  to  his  father,  Jessie  would  take  longer  to 
dress  for  dinner  than  he,  and  there  would  be  a  few 
minutes  to  spare  after  she  went  upstairs.  But  even 
as  they  were  strolling  across  the  lawn  to  get  the 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  239 

croquet-balls  from  their  box,  she  a  little  ahead  of 
him  as  he  nursed  a  match  for  his  cigarette,  he  looked 
up,  and  there  in  front  of  him  might  have  been  Hel- 
ena. The  two  were  of  the  same  height  and  build, 
they  moved  like  each  other.  It  was  Jessie,  of  course, 
but  just  for  a  second,  while  his  match  burned  up, 
in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  it  was  not  she  at  all  .  .  . 

He  threw  the  match  away. 

*'Get  the  balls  out,  will  you?"  he  said.  "I've  left 
my  match-box  in  my  father's  room." 

He  ran  back  to  the  house,  and  went  in  through  the 
garden  door  of  his  father's  study.  Lord  Tintagel  was 
sitting  in  the  big  leather  arm-chair,  with  his  feet  up 
on  another,  and  a  glass  beside  him. 

"Just  come  for  a  cock-tail,  father,"  said  Archie. 
"Hullo,  they're  not  here  yet.  It  doesn't  matter;  I'll 
take  a  glass  of  whiskey  and  soda." 

"By  all  means:  take  what  you  like,"  said  the  other, 
drowsily.     "Your  mother's  come,  hasn't  she?" 

"Yes,  mother  and  Jessie,"  said  Archie,  pouring 
himself  out  some  w^hiskey.  The  soda  water  was 
nearly  exhausted,  but  the  dregs  of  it  gurgled  pleas- 
antly over  the  spirit.  He  drank  it  in  a  couple  of 
gulps. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now?"  asked  his  father, 

"Only  have  a  game  with  Jessie." 

"All  right.  Call  in  here  when  it's  time  to  go  up 
and  dress.  There'll  be  a  cocktail  for  you  then. 
Infernal  lazy  fellows  the  servants  are  not  to  bring 
them  in  earlier.  Chuck  me  over  the  evening  paper, 
will  you?" 

The  evening  remission  from  deadness  and  dulness 
and  misery  had  begun  for  Archie.  He  played  his 
game  with  Jessie,  drank  his  cocktail,  and  by  the 
end  of  dinner  had  risen  to  such  naturalness  of  good 


240  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

spirits  again,  that  his  mother  commended  herself 
for  the  wisdom  of  her  plan  that  he  should  leave  Lon- 
don and  seek  a  change  of  mind  in  a  change  of  scene. 
He  had  done  some  writing  since  he  had  been  here: 
he  seemed  pleased  with  the  way  it  was  going,  and 
she  talked  hopefully  to  Jessie  when  they  held  a 
rather  protracted  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  be- 
fore the  two  men  joined  them.  Perhaps  they  had 
both  overrated  the  strength  of  Archie's  attachment; 
certainly  to-night  he  did  not  appear  like  a  boy  who 
had  so  lately  suffered  an  overwhelming  disappoint- 
ment in  his  affections. 

"And  Blessington  says  he  has  been  just  as  de- 
lightful and  affectionate  to  her  as  usual,"  she  said. 
"He  goes  and  talks  to  her  every  evening  as  he  always 
did.  I  think  you  must  have  been  wrong,  dear  Jessie, 
when  you  thought  he  was  so  mortally  hurt." 

Jessie  did  not  reply  at  once;  she  felt  sure  that  she, 
with  the  insight  of  that  love  which  is  more  com- 
prehending than  any  mother's  love,  was  somehow 
right  about  that  point.  It  was  not  the  mere  lapse 
of  a  week  that  had  restored  Archie.  Besides,  Bless- 
ington did  not  know  about  his  troubles.  She  could 
easily  conjecture  what  a  relief  he  might  find  that. 
She  knew  that  she  would  feel  the  same  in  his  place, 
she  could  understand  how  much  easier  it  was  to 
behave  normally  with  those  who  did  not  know 
than  with  those  who  did.  Yet  Archie's  father  knew, 
and  all  through  dinner  she  had  seen  how  friendly 
and  intimate  the  two  had  become.  Archie  used  to 
be  constrained  and  awkward  with  his  father,  while 
his  father  used  to  be  rather  contemptuous  of  him. 
But  this  evening  there  had  been  none  of  that  on 
either  side,  and  now  they  lingered  together  a  long 
time  over  their  talk  and  their  cigarettes.    It  was  as 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  241 

if  some  bond  of  sympathy  was  springing  up  between 
them.  But  she  shrank  from  admitting  the  expla- 
nation to  herself:  it  might  be  that  a  man  who  had 
been  so  bitterly  disappointed  about  a  girl  found 
something  in  another  man  that  suited  his  mood. 
Women  would  remind  him  of  a  woman  .  .  . 

There  was  a  shout  of  laughter  in  the  hall  outside, 
and  Archie  came  in,  followed  by  his  father.  He  did 
not  communicate  the  grounds  for  his  merriment,  but 
looking  a  little  flushed,  very  handsome  and  very 
content,  sat  down  on  the  sofa  by  his  mother. 

''Well,  mother  darling?"  he  said. 

Instantly  her  love  yearned  forth  to  him. 

"My  dear,  it  is  good  to  hear  you  laugh,"  she  said. 
"What  have  you  and  your  father  been  talking 
about?" 

The  sense  of  being  watched,  the  love  that  irritated, 
did  not  trouble  Archie  now.  The  sunny  hours  would 
stretch  unclouded  until  he  fell  into  bed.  He  laughed 
again,  looking  across  to  his  father. 

"I  say,  father,"  he  said.  "Shall  I  tell  her,  or  would 
she  think  it  not  quite  right?" 

"Just  as  you  like,"  said  Lord  Tintagel. 

The  door  into  the  garden,  already  ajar,  swung 
gently  open,  admitting  a  breath  of  cool  night  air 
into  the  room.  It  stirred  in  Jessie's  hair  as  it  passed 
her,  and  moved  across  to  Archie,  making  the  flowers 
in  a  vase  near  him  vibrate.  And  for  just  that  mo- 
ment some  impulse  from  the  untainted  tranquillity 
stirred  in  his  soul,  and  his  overheated,  stimulated 
brain  drank  it  thirstily  in.  His  own  laughter,  and 
the  subject  of  his  laughter,  the  whole  contents  of 
the  last  hour  or  two,  seemed  stale  and  stuffy.  The 
air  of  them  was  thick  with  the  fumes  of  wine,  with 
the    fancies   and   images   that   it   evoked,   smoke- 


242  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

wreaths  that  hung  heavy  in  the  atmosphere,  swirling 
and  turning  like  dancers  and  melting  into  other 
shapes.  But  for  that  moment  when  the  night  air 
came  in  from  the  crystal-clear  dusk  outside,  that 
liquid  tabernacle  of  sapphire  in  the  holy  night, 
where  stars  sang  together  and  nightingales  burned, 
the  hot  fumes  dispersed,  and  he  drew  in  long  un- 
tainted breaths.  This  physical  impression  had,  too, 
its  psychical  counterpart,  for  even  as  the  air  that 
stirred  in  Jessie's  hair  brought  a  coolness  and  a  re- 
freshment to  him,  so  from  the  girl  herself  there 
seemed  to  stream  into  it  a  cufrent  of  something 
wholesome  and  human  and  unfevered,  unvexed  by 
desire,  and  untouched  by  bitterness  .  .  . 

"It's  rather  hot  in  here,"  he  said.  "Will  you  come 
for  a  stroll,  Jessie?" 

They  went  out  together  .  .  .  the  heavens  were 
full  of  stars  and  a  slip  of  a  moon  was  near  to  its 
setting.  Over  the  beds  below  the  windows  there 
hovered  the  fainter  fragrance  of  sleeping  flowers  that 
stood  with  hanging  heads  and  leaves  that  glimmered 
with  the  falling  dew.  Beyond  lay  the  dimmed  mir- 
ror of  the  lake,  and  beside  it  rose  the  dark  mass  of 
the  wood  in  which  the  nightingales  were  singing. 
The  scene  seemed  prepared  as  for  some  human  love- 
duet,  when  lovers  fancy  that  nature  is  arranging  her 
most  sensuous  effects  for  their  benefit,  though  in 
reality  she  is  but  pursuing  the  path  ordained  for 
her  by  the  wheeling  seasons,  and  predicted  by  ba- 
rometers and  apparatus  that  is  concerned  only  with 
heat  and  movements  of  the  moon.  And  of  lovers, 
there  was  one  of  each  pair  absent,  as  the  two  walked 
quietly  towards  the  wood  of  the  nightingales;  for 
Jessie  there  was  no  mate,  and  for  Archie,  none  .  .  . 
Two  hungry  souls,  both  longing,  both  unsatisfied. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  243 

went  forth  on  that  twilit  pilgrimage.  Spring  still 
stirred  and  sang,  and  there  burned  above  them  the 
everlasting  choir  of  the  stars.  But  that  helped  in 
no  way:  had  they  been  lovers,  an  autumn  squall  or 
a  winter  snow-storm  would  have  served  their  pur- 
pose just  as  well. 

Archie  chattered  for  a  little  while,  comparing  the 
moon  to  a  clipped  finger-nail,  the  dimmed  mirror 
of  the  lake  to  a  frozen  rink  in  Switzerland,  with  all 
the  hollowness  of  superficial  talk,  when  the  tongue 
speaks  from  habit,  and  is  as  lightly  rooted  as  the 
seed  on  stony  ground.  Heart-whole,  he  had  often 
chattered  like  that,  and  Jessie  had  sunned  herself 
and  responded  to  those  silly  things,  but  now  she 
knew,  as  well  as  he,  that  the  babble  was  no  more 
than  blown  sea-foam.  It  made  her  heart  ache  that  he 
should  talk  it  to  her,  for  though  she  made  no  claim 
on  his  lovO;  it  was  miserable  that  he  could  not  recog- 
nise how  true  a  friend  it  was  who  was  by  his  side  in 
this  song-haunted  darkness.  She  knew — none  bet- 
ter— that  he  had  no  love  to  give  her,  but  her  love 
that  was  so  disciplined  to  be  hungry  and  not  cry 
out,  yet  starved  for  a  word  from  him  that  should 
fly  the  flag  of  friendship,  noblest  of  all  ensigns  that 
are  not  of  royal  emblazonment. 

They  had  come  to  the  edge  of  the  lake,  and  a 
moor-hen  steered  its  water-logged  flight  across  the 
surface.  And  then  Archie's  foolish  chatter  died, 
and  he  was  silent  as  he  watched  the  rayed  ripple  of 
water.  The  wash  died  away  in  the  reeds,  and  chuck- 
led on  the  bank,  and  at  last  he  spoke. 

"Why  did  Helena  treat  me  like  that?"  he  said. 
"It  wasn't  fair  on  me.  Why  did  she  encourage  me? 
She  might  so  easily  have  shewn  me  that  she  didn't 
care.     She  knew;  don't  tell  me  she  didn't  know! 


244  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Do  answer  me.  Didn't  she  know?  All  the  time  that 
we  were  in  town  together  she  knew.  And  she  let 
me  go  on.  She  was  waiting  to  see  if  she  could 
catch  the  Bradshaw.  If  she  couldn't,  perhaps  she 
would  have  taken  me.  Was  it  so?  You  ought  to 
know:  you're  her  sister." 

His  voice  had  risen  from  the  first  reproach  of  his 
speech  to  a  fury  of  indignation. 

"Did  she  love  me  or  didn't  she?"  he  cried.  "Do 
tell  me,  if  you  know." 

His  passion  had  found  combustible  material  in 
her:  she  flamed  with  it. 

"Helena  doesn't  love  anybody,"  she  said.  "Oh, 
Archie,  poor  Helena!" 

"Poor  Helena!"  said  he.  "Why  'poor'?  Surely 
it's  far  more  comfortable  to  love  nobody.  Oh,  don't 
remind  me  of  that  stupid  rot  about  it  being  better 
to  have  loved  and  lost.  Anyhow,  a  worse  thing  is  to 
have  loved  and  not  found.  That's  what  has  hap- 
pened to  me,  and  she  made  me  think  I  had  found. 
She  meant  to  make  me  think  that.  Damned  well 
she  succeeded  too.  And  if  you're  right  about  her 
not  loving  anybody,  do  you  mean  that  she  doesn't 
love  the  Bradshaw?" 

Archie  had  closed  a  grip  on  her  arm:  now  she 
shook  his  hand  off,  though  loving  to  have  it  there. 

"I  can't  answer  you  that,"  she  said.  "And  I 
oughtn't  to  have  said  that  Helena  loves  nobody.  I 
withdraw  that  entirely." 

"The  saying  of  it,  you  mean,"  said  he.  "You  don't 
withdraw  the  truth  of  it." 

"I  don't  know  the  truth  of  it.  What  I  said  was 
only  my  opinion,  and  I  withdraw  it.  I  oughtn't  to 
have  said  it." 

"But  you  keep  your  opinion?"  asked  he. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  245 

"You  shouldn't  ask  me  that.  I  have  withdrawn 
what  I  said.    Please  accept  that." 

In  this  high  noon  of  stars  she  could  see  his  face 
very  clearly.  It  was  not  angry  any  longer:  it  was 
just  empty,  as  if  there  was  no  one  there  behind  the 
eyes  and  the  mouth.  It  was  a  face  empty  swept  and 
garnished,  ready  for  any  occupant  who  might  take 
possession.  The  sweet  clean  water  of  his  nature 
must  have  run  out  onto  desert  sands,  the  cistern  of 
the  body  in  which  it  had  so  swiftly  and  boyishly 
bubbled  all  these  years  was  empty.  Just  for  one 
second  that  impression  lasted,  inscrutably  frighten- 
ing her  with  some  nightmare  touch. 

"Archie,  what  is  it?"  she  cried.  "Are  you  there? 
Your 

She  heard  him  breathe  a  long  indrawn  sigh. 

"Yes,  what's  the  matter?"  he  asked.  "I'm  afraid 
I've  been  rather  loud  and  violent.  I'm  sorry,  Jessie. 
But  it's  all  over." 

She  longed  with  a  force  of  passion  quite  new  to 
her  to  be  able  to  reach  him  in  some  way,  to  let  her 
love  be  coined  into  the  commoner  metal  of  friend- 
ship, if  only  that  could  get  to  him  and  give  him  the 
sense  that  he  had  something  in  his  pocket  worth 
having,  even  though  it  was  not  gold.  She  would 
have  gleefully  melted  all  her  love  into  any  currency 
that  could  have  enriched  him,  for  he  did  not  want 
her  love,  and  she  had  no  other  use  for  it  except  to 
help  him  in  some  way.  And,  as  if  to  answer  her 
yearning,  he  took  her  arm  again,  not  angrily  now, 
but  with  the  quiet  pressure  of  a  man  with  a  sym- 
pathetic friend. 

"You're  a  good  pal,  Jessie,"  he  said.  "I'm  awfully 
grateful  to  you.  You  won't  play  me  false  with  your 
friendship,  will  you?" 


246  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"No,  my  dear,"  said  she,  stumbling  a  little  on  the 
words.  "I'm — I'm  not  like  that.  The  more  you 
count  on  me,  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased.  I'm 
stupid  at  saying  things,  but,  oh,  Archie,  if  a  friend 
is  any  use  to  you,  you've  got  one.  And  let  me  say, 
just  once,  how  sorry  I  am  for  all  this  miserable 
business." 

"Thanks,  Jessie,"  said  he. 

They  had  turned  back  towards  the  house,  and 
Jessie  unconscious  of  anything  else  except  Archie 
saw  that  they  were  already  half  across  the  lawn 
that  lay  dripping  with  dew.  Her  thin  satin  shoes 
were  soaked,  and  the  hem  of  her  dress  trailed  on  the 
grass.  But  she  regarded  that  no  more  than  she 
would  have  regarded  it  had  she  been  walking  in  the 
dark  with  her  lover. 

Then  Archie  spoke  again, — there  was  no  more 
emotion  in  his  voice  than  if  he  had  been  speaking 
through  a  telephone. 

"Do  keep  on  trying  to  be  friends  with  me,  Jessie," 
he  said.  "I'm  nothing  at  all  just  now,  but  will  you 
watch  by  the  corpse?  It  likes  to  know  you  are  there. 
There's  no  complaint  if  you  go  away,  but  when 
sometimes  you  have  nothing  to  do,  you  might  just 
sit  with  it." 

"Archie,  dear,  don't  talk  such  nonsense,"  she  said. 

"I  daresay  it  is  nonsense,  but  it  seems  to  me  sense. 
I  don't  feel  as  if  I  was  anybody  ...  I  can  imagine 
what  a  house  feels  like  that  has  been  happily  lived 
in  for  years,  when  the  family  goes  away  and  leaves 
it  empty.  There's  a  board  up,  To  let  unfurnished,' 
and  the  windows  get  dirty,  and  the  knocker  and 
door-handle  which  were  so  well  rubbed  and  polished 
get  dull.  There  used  to  be  curtains  in  the  windows, 
and  in  the  evening  passers-by  in  the  street  could 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  247 

see  chinks  of  light  from  within,  and  perhaps  hear 
sounds  of  laughter.  But  now  there  are  no  curtains, 
and  the  pictures  have  gone  from  the  walls,  leaving 
oblong  marks  where  they  used  to  hang.  And  the 
spirit  of  the  house  stares  mournfully  out,  thinking 
of  the  days  when  there  was  laughter  and  love  within 
its  walls.  Haven't  you  ever  seen  a  house  like  that? 
They're  common  enough." 

She  pressed  the  hand  that  lay  loose  in  the  crook 
of  her  elbow. 

''Oh,  Archie,  you  give  me  such  a  heart-ache,"  she 
said. 

"Well,  I  won't  again.  But  if  you  think  me  want- 
ing in  affection  to  mother  or  you  or  anybody,  just 
remember  that  I'm  an  empty  house  for  the  present. 
I  daresay  somebody  will  take  me  again." 

Jessie  felt  that  this  was  a  truer  Archie  than  he  who 
had  stopped  so  long  in  the  dining-room  and  come  in 
afterwards  with  a  shout  of  laughter  over  something 
that  he  would  not  recount.  But  by  now  their  stroll 
had  taken  them  close  to  the  long  grey  front  of  the 
house,  and  for  the  present  Archie  had  no  more  to 
say,  but  was  evidently  meaning  to  go  indoors  again. 
Upstairs  all  was  dark,  but  below  the  five  windows 
of  the  drawing-room,  uncurtained  and  open,  cast 
oblongs  of  light  onto  the  gravel,  and  next  to  them 
the  two  windows  of  Lord  Tintagel's  study  were  lit. 
Even  as  they  stepped  from  the  grass  onto  the  walk, 
and  their  footsteps  became  audible  again,  his  figure, 
silhouetted  against  the  light,  appeared  there,  and  the 
window-sash  rattled  as  he  opened  it  wider. 

"Is  that  you,  Archie?"  he  called.  "Come  in  and 
see  me  before  you  go  upstairs." 

"All  right,  father,"  said  he,  "we're  just  coming  in." 

Jessie  heard  a  fresh  vigour  come  into  his  quick- 


248  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

ened  voice,  and  in  the  light  from  the  windows  she 
could  see  that  his  face  was  alert  again.  And  it  was 
with  a  sense  of  certainty  that  she  guessed  what  had 
given  him  this  sudden  animation.  Perhaps  it  was 
only  the  knowledge  of  his  father's  habits  that  in- 
formed her,  perhaps  it  was  a  brain-wave  passing 
from  him  to  her  that  told  her  that  inside  his  father's 
room  were  the  things  for  which  he  craved,  the  cool 
hiss  of  bubbling  water  onto  the  ice  that  swam  in  the 
spirits  .  .  . 

"You're  not  going  to  sit  up  long,  are  you?"  she 
said. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  My  father  and  I  often  have 
a  talk  in  the  evening.  And  sometimes  I  do  some 
writing  before  I  go  to  bed.  It's  quite  a  good  time 
for  writing  when  every  one  has  gone  to  bed  and  the 
house  is  quiet." 

"You  always  used  to  say  at  Silorno  that  you  wrote 
best  in  the  morning." 

"Yes,  but  that  was  at  Silorno,  where  I  could  lie 
on  the  beach,  and  go  for  a  swim  at  intervals.  Lord! 
What  jolly  days  they  were.  It's  a  pity  they  are  all 
dead." 

They  went  in  through  the  French  window  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  found  that  Lady  Tintagel 
had  already  gone  upstairs.  Archie  stood  by  Jessie, 
shifting  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  in  evident  im- 
patience at  her  lingering. 

"Well,  you'll  be  wanting  to  go  to  bed,"  he  said. 
"I  daresay  you'll  go  in  and  have  a  talk  with  my 
mother.  And,  do  you  know,  my  father's  waiting 
for  me;  I  think  I'll  join  him.  I  shall  soon  come 
upstairs,  I  expect.  I  feel  rather  like  writing  to- 
night." 

"I'm  glad  you're  going  on  with  that,"  she  said. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  249 

"That's  something  left,  isn't  it?  The  house  isn't 
quite  empty,  Archie." 

He  laughed. 

"No,  I  can  trace  my  name  in  the  dust  on  the 
window-panes,"  he  said.  "But  I'll  really  go  to  my 
father.     Good-night,  Jessie." 

Lord  Tintagel,  rather  unusually,  was  deep  in  the 
evening  paper  when  Archie  entered.  Archie  noticed 
with  some  surprise,  that  his  glass  still  stood  un- 
touched on  the  tray. 

"Rather  nasty  news,"  he  said,  not  looking  up. 
"Give  me  a  drink,  Archie,  there's  a  good  fellow. 
Plenty  of  ice  and  not  much  soda." 

"And  what's  the  news?"  asked  Archie. 

"Well,  it  looks  as  if  there  might  really  be  trouble 
brewing.  Servia  has  appealed  to  Russia  against  the 
Austrian  ultimatum.  I  wonder  if  Germany  can 
really  be  at  the  bottom  of  it  all.  And  the  city  takes 
a  gloomy  view  of  it.  All  Russian  securities  are 
heavily  down." 

"Does  that  affect  you?"  asked  Archie,  bringing 
him  his  drink. 

"Yes,  I've  got  a  big  account  open  in  them.  I 
wonder  if  I  had  better  sell.  Of  course  there  won't 
be  war;  we're  always  having  these  scares  and  they 
always  come  to  nothing.  But  if  dealers  are  anxious, 
prices  may  fall  a  good  bit  yet,  and  I  should  find  it 
difiicult  to  pay  my  differences." 

Archie  poured  himself  out  his  first  tumbler  full. 
He  held  it  in  his  hand  a  moment,  not  tasting  it, 
now  that  he  had  got  it.  Delay,  when  the  delay  was 
voluntary,  would  but  add  deliciousness  to  the  mo- 
ment when  his  mouth  and  throat  would  feel  that 
cold  sting  .  .  . 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  said,  watching  the  bub- 


250  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

bles  stream  up  from  the  sides  and  bottom  of  his 
glass.    His  father  threw  down  the  paper. 

"It's  as  simple  as  heads  and  tails,"  he  said.  "I've 
bought  a  quantity  of  Russian  mining  shares,  without 
paying  for  them,  in  the  hope  that  they  will  go  up. 
If  they  do,  I  shall  sell  at  the  higher  price  and  pocket 
the  difference.  But  if  they  go  down  I  shall  have  to 
pay  the  difference  at  the  next  account.  If  the  shares 
are  each  worth  £8  now,  and  at  the  next  account  are 
only  standing  at  £6,  I  shall  have  to  pay  £2  on  each 
share.  If  I  like,  I  can  telegraph  to  my  broker  to  sell 
now,  while  they're  at  £8.  I  shall  have  a  loss  be- 
cause I  bought  them  at  £9,  but  I  shall  no  longer  be 
running  any  risks.  But  it's  thirsty  work  talking. 
Just  fill  my  glass  again." 

"But  then  if  the  scare  dies  down  again,  I  suppose 
your  shares  will  go  up,"  said  Archie. 

His  father  laughed. 

"Sound  business  head  you've  got,  Archie,"  he 
said.  "You've  got  the  hang  of  it:  it's  just  heads 
and  tails.  Never  you  speculate:  it's  a  rotten  busi- 
ness. I've  got  into  the  habit  now,  but  I  recommend 
you  not  to  take  to  it.  It's  easy  enough  to  take  to  it, 
but  it's  the  devil  to  break  it.  Same  with  other 
things.  Make  a  habit  of  virtue,  and  you'll  never 
go  to  the  deuce." 

He  watched  Archie  a  moment,  who  with  head 
thrown  back,  and  young  strong  throat  throbbing  as 
he  swallowed,  was  reaping  the  rewards  of  his  delay 
in  drinking.  And  when  with  brightened  eyes  he 
put  his  glass  down,  he  stood  there  like  some  modern 
incarnation  of  Dionysus,  his  face  pure  Greek  from 
the  low-growing  brown  curls  to  the  straight  nose 
and  the  short  round  chin.  With  a  cloak  over  his 
shoulders  in  exchange  for  his  dress-clothes,  with 


ACROSS  THE  STREAIM  251 

sandals  for  his  patent  leather  shoes,  and  a  wme-cup 
for  his  tall  glass,  he  might  have  stepped  straight 
from  some  temple-frieze,  and  his  father  wondered 
how  any  girl  in  her  senses  could  have  chosen  the 
precise  pedantic  man  whom  she  was  soon  going  to 
marry,  when  Archie  was  but  waiting,  as  she  must 
have  known,  for  his  moment.  He,  poor  fellow,  was 
often  a  very  dreary  and  dispirited  boy  all  day,  but 
in  the  evening  he  came  to  himself  again,  and  was 
what  he  used  to  be.  And  yet,  though  it  seemed  to 
Lord  Tintagel  a  cruel  thing  to  wish  to  deprive  him 
of  the  few  hours  of  the  joy  of  living  that  were  his 
during  the  day,  he  was  smitten  with  the  easy  and 
vague  remorse  of  a  man  only  half-sober,  to  see  the 
effect  that  alcohol  had  on  Archie,  who  all  his  life 
till  now  had  scarcely  tasted  it.  But  he  remembered 
when  he  himself  had  been  at  that  stage,  he  remem- 
bered also  his  father  giving  him  just  such  a  warning 
as  he  now  proposed  to  give  Archie.  He  wished  he 
had  taken  notice  of  it,  and  he  hoped  that  Archie 
would. 

That  evening,  thirty  years  ago,  he  recalled  now 
with  extreme  distinctness.  The  scene  had  taken 
place  in  this  very  room,  and  his  father,  already  half 
tipsy,  as  his  habit  was,  had  warned  him  of  the 
dangers  of  drink,  and  he  remembered  how  laughable 
and  grotesque  such  a  warning  had  seemed  coming 
from  lips  that  had  lost  all  precision  of  utterance. 
But  he  told  himself  that  he  was  not  going  to  commit 
any  such  absurdity:  he  was  perfectly  sober,  indeed 
it  seemed  very  likely  that  it  had  never  entered 
Archie's  head  to  think  of  him  as  a  drunkar-d.  Some- 
times he  stumbled  a  little  going  upstairs  at  night, 
sometimes  he  had  an  impression  that  his  pronuncia- 
tion was  not  quite  distinct,  but  he  never  got  inca- 


252  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

pable,  as  he  could  remember  his  father  getting,  and 
being  carried  off  to  bed  by  two  perspiring  footmen. 

He  put  down  his  second  glass  without  tasting  it. 

"There's  something  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about, 
Archie,"  he  said,  "and  you  mustn't  be  vexed  with 
me,  because  I'm  only  doing  what  I  believe  to  be 
my  duty.    You  won't  be  vexed,  will  you?" 

Archie  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"No,  I  don't  suppose  I  shall,  father,"  he  said. 
"What  is  it?" 

His  father  got  up  and  stood  by  his  chair  quite 
steadily,  for  he  leaned  back  against  the  high  chim- 
ney-piece. 

"Well,  I  want  you  to  be  careful  about  that  stuff," 
he  said,  pointing  to  the  bottle.  "That's  one  of  the 
habits  I  was  speaking  about,  which  they  say  is  so 
easy  not  to  form,  but  so  hard  to  break.  You  drink 
rather  freely,  you  know,  whereas  a  few  months  ago 
you  never  touched  wine  or  spirits.  It's  an  awful 
snare — you  may  get  badly  entangled  in  it  before  you 
know  you  are  caught  at  all." 

Archie  kept  his  lucid  eyes  fixed  on  his  father's 
and  not  a  tremor  of  his  beautiful  mouth  betrayed 
his  inward  laughter,  the  derisive  merriment  at  this 
solemn  adjuration  delivered  by  a  man  who  spoke 
very  carefully  for  fear  of  his  words  all  running  into 
each  other  like  the  impress  of  ink  on  blotting  paper. 
It  really  was  ludicrously  funny,  and  the  immortal 
Mr.  Stiggins  came  into  his  mind. 

"I  hope  you  don't  think  a  whiskey  and  soda  after 
dinner  is  dangerous,  father,"  he  said.  "You  usually 
have  one  yourself,  you  know." 

He  moved  across  to  the  table  as  he  spoke  and 
handed  his  father  the  drink  he  had  mixed  for  him 
but  a  few  moments  before.     Lord  Tintagel,  quite 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  253 

missing  the  irony  of  the  act,  began  sipping  it,  as  he 
talked. 

"No,  of  course  not,  my  dear  boy,"  he  said.  "I'm 
not  a  faddist  who  thinks  there's  a  seed  of  delirium 
tremens  in  every  glass  of  wine.  But — though  you 
may  never  have  heard  it — your  grandfather  was  a 
man  who  habitually  took  too  much,  and  it's  strange 
how  that  sort  of  failing  runs  in  families." 

Archie's  mouth  broadened  into  a  smile. 

"Skipping  a  generation  now  and  then,"  he  said 
gravely. 

His  father  turned  sharply  on  him. 

"Eh?    What?"  he  asked. 

He  looked  hard  at  Archie  for  a  moment,  as  hard, 
that  is,  as  his  rather  wandering  power  of  focus  al- 
lowed him,  and  suddenly  beheld  himself  with 
Archie's  eyes,  even  as  thirty  years  ago  he  had  beheld 
his  father  when  he  spoke  to  him  on  precisely  the 
same  theme.  He  put  down  his  glass,  and  a  wave  of 
shame  as  he  saw  himself  as  Archie  saw  him  went 
over  him. 

"I  know:  this  doesn't  come  very  well  from  me, 
Archie,"  he  said.  "It's  ridiculous,  isn't  it?  But  I 
meant  well." 

He  looked  at  the  boy  with  a  pathetic  deprecating 
glance. 

"If  I  make  an  effort,  will  you  make  one,  too?"  he 
asked.  "I've  gone  far  along  that  road,  and  I  should 
be  sorry  to  see  you  following  me.  I  should  indeed. 
Just  now  I  know  you're  unhappy,  and  a  bottle  of 
wine  makes  things  more  tolerable,  doesn't  it?" 

Archie  in  his  empty,  exasperated  heart  felt  a  sort 
of  pity  for  his  father,  but  also  a  sort  of  scorn.  Some- 
thing inside  Lord  Tintagel  was  probably  serious  and 
sincere,  and  yet  it  was  what  he  had  drunk  that 


254  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

stimulated  his  scruples  for  Archie.  He  was  in  a 
mellow,  kindly,  moralising  stage  in  his  cups  that 
Archie  had  often  noticed  before.  Certainly  he  him- 
self did  not  want  to  become  like  that,  but  he  felt 
that  he  was  not  within  measurable  distance  of  the 
need  of  making  any  resolution  on  the  subject,  so  far 
was  he  from  needing  the  exercise  of  his  will.  Just 
at  present,  even  as  his  father  had  said,  he  was  un- 
happy, and  his  unhappiness  melted  in  the  sunshine 
of  drink.  He  did  not  care  for  it  in  itself:  he  but 
took  it,  so  he  told  himself,  like  medicine  because  his 
mind  was  ailing. 

"Well,  let  us  talk  about  it  to-morrow,"  he  said. 
"We'll  make  some  rule,  shall  we,  father?  And  don't 
imagine  for  a  moment  that  I  am  vexed  with  you. 
But  I  shall  go  upstairs  now,  I  think.  I've  got  some 
writing  I  want  to  do." 

He  hesitated  a  moment. 

"I'll  just  take  a  nif^ht-cap  with  me,"  he  said. 
"Good-night,  father." 

"Good-night,  my  dear  boy,  God  bless  you !  We'll 
have  a  talk  to-morrow." 

Archie  took  the  glass  he  had  filled  out  into  the 
hall,  and  waited  there  a  moment,  and  the  pity  faded 
from  his  mind,  leaving  only  contempt.  It  was  just 
the  maudlin  mood  that  had  prompted  his  father  to 
be  so  ridiculous,  and  talk  about  resolutions.  Cer- 
tainly resolutions  would  do  him  no  harm,  and  the 
keeping  of  them  undoubtedly  would  do  him  good, 
for  instead  of  the  firm,  masterful  man  whom  Archie 
had  known  as  the  rather  prodigious  denizen  of  that 
formidable  room,  there  sat  there  now  a  weak,  en- 
tangled creature.  He  could  hardly  believe  that  in 
years  not  so  long  past,  he  had  been  afraid  of  his 
father:   now  his  whole  force,  that  dominating  in- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  255 

tangible  quality,  had  vanished.  Occasionally  he  still 
flew  into  fits  of  anger  that  alarmed  nobody,  but  that 
was  all  that  was  left  of  his  power. 

Archie  sat  for  a  few  minutes  on  the  hall  table, 
instead  of  going  upstairs,  for  he  meant,  with  a  cer- 
tain object  in  view,  to  go  back  to  his  father's  room, 
on  the  plea  of  having  forgotten  something;  and  as 
he  waited,  the  big  clock  ticked  him  back  into  boy- 
hood. There  was  the  fireplace  by  which  Abra- 
cadabra sat  on  the  last  of  her  appearances;  there  the 
screen  behind  which,  as  he  had  subsequently  ascer- 
tained, William  had  hidden  with  a  trumpet  and  the 
serv'ants'  dinner-bell,  there  the  side  door  into  the 
gardens  through  which,  pleasingly  excited,  he  had 
hurried  with  the  box  for  coffin  of  the  dead  bird  which 
the  cat  had  killed  ...  A  hundred  memories  crowd- 
ed about  him,  and  not  one,  save  where  Blessington 
was  concerned,  held  any  romance  or  tenderness  for 
him.  They  were  as  meaningless  as  pictures  taken 
out  from  the  empty  house  into  the  street:  in  the 
house  itself,  his  bitter  lonely  spirit,  there  was 
nothing  left  but  the  places  where  once  they  hung. 

He  went  back  to  his  father's  room,  crossing  the 
hall  with  light  foot,  and  turning  the  handle  of  the 
door  with  swiftness  and  silence.  There  was  his 
father  by  the  table,  filling  his  glass  again.  It  was 
just  that  which  Archie  wished  to  verify. 

''I  only  came  back  for  a  book,"  he  said.  "Good- 
night, again." 


CHAPTER  X 

Archie  went  straight  up  to  his  room:  his  brimming 
glass  was  difi&cult  to  carry  quite  steadily,  and  he  re- 
duced its  contents  half-way  upstairs.  William  had 
orders  always  to  put  whiskey  and  soda  in  his  room 
in  case  he  wanted  to  sit  up  and  write,  but  sometimes 
William  forgot,  or  at  any  rate  did  not  obey,  and 
Archie  wondered  if  the  man  did  it  on  purpose,  with 
perhaps  the  same  excellent  intentions  as  those  which 
flowered  so  decorously  in  his  father's  mind.  But 
to-night  all  was  as  it  should  be,  and  as  it  was  very 
hot,  Archie  undressed  and  put  on  his  pyjamas  be- 
fore settling  down  to  work.  Writing,  the  absorbing 
joy  of  creation,  the  delicate  etching  of  sentences 
that  bit  into  the  plate,  still  possessed  him  when  he 
had  taken  the  requisite  evening  dose. 

But  to-night,  though  he  had  got  his  material 
ready,  his  hand  could  not  accomplish  the  fashioning 
of  it,  and  he  got  up  and  walked  with  bare  feet  once 
or  twice  up  and  down  the  room,  wondering  why  he 
could  not  link  up  his  thoughts  to  his  power  of  ex- 
pression. He  was  nearly  at  the  end  of  one  of  those 
sea-stories,  which  he  had  begun  at  Silorno,  and  he 
knew  exactly  what  he  meant  to  say.  The  brain- 
centre  that  dictated  was  charged  and  sufficiently 
stimulated,  and  yet  he  could  get  nothing  onto  paper 
that  was  worth  putting  there,  though  he  was  ready 
to  write,  and  wanted  to  write.  He  had  not  drunk 
too  much  and  made  himself  fuddled;  he  had  not 

256 


ACROSS  THE  STREAJVI  25T 

drunk  too  little,  and  left  the  bitter  weeds  of  daily 
consciousness  uncovered,  like  rocks  at  low  tide. 

He  sat  and  thought,  wrote  and  impatiently  erased 
again,  and  at  last  put  down  his  pen.  Perhaps  even 
this,  the  only  living  interest  that  just  now  existed 
for  him,  was  being  taken  from  him  also,  and  was 
following  dovrn  the  channel  which  had  emptied  it- 
self into  Helena.  She  had  taken  from  him  every- 
thing else  that  meant  life :  it  would  be  like  her  con- 
sistency to  take  that  also,  and  leave  him  nude  and 
empty.  It  was  not  that  she  wanted  the  gift  which, 
she — in  his  vague  excited  thought — seemed  to  be 
robbing  him  of,  it  was  only  that  she  and  the  memory 
of  how  she  had  treated  him  was  a  vampire  to  his 
blood.  She  had  sucked  him  empty,  drained  him 
dry,  of  happiness,  of  joy  of  life,  of  human  interests. 
IMore  than  that,  the  best  thing,  his  love,  which  he 
had  to  give  her,  and  for  which  she  had  no  use,  she 
now  seemed  to  have  treated  with  some  devilish  al- 
chemy, so  that  it  turned  bitter,  and  hate,  like  some 
oozy  scum,  rose  from  the  depths  of  it,  and  covered 
its  crystal  with  poisonous  growth. 

This  would  never  do:  the  rocks  at  low  tide  had 
become  uncovered,  and  while  he  slipped  and  stum- 
bled among  them,  bruising  himself  at  every  step 
with  the  thought  of  Helena,  he  could  never  get  that 
abstraction  and  detachment  which  he  knew  were  the 
necessary  conditions  of  his  writing.  And  all  power 
of  achieving  that  seemed  taken  from  him:  he  felt 
himself  an  impotent  atom,  unable  to  order  the 
workings  of  his  own  brain,  defenceless  against  any 
thoughts  that  might  assault  him. 

The  house  was  perfectly  quiet,  the  stillness  of  the 
midsummer  night  had  flowed  into  its  open  windows 
and  drowned  it  deep  in  that  fathomless  tranquillity 


258  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

that  was  yet  tense  with  the  energy  of  the  spinning 
world  and  the  far-flung  orbits  of  the  mjTiad  stars. 
The  moon  had  long  since  sunk,  but  the  galaxy  of 
uncounted  worlds  flared  on  their  courses,  driven 
onwards  by  the  inexhaustible  eternity  of  creative 
forces  that  ran  through  the  stars  even  as  it  ran 
through  the  humblest  herb  that  put  forth  its  un- 
noticed blossom  on  the  wayside.  But  Archie  in 
this  bitter  stagnation  that  paratysed  him  seemed 
to  him^self  to  have  no  part  in  life:  all  that  current 
of  energy  that  bubbled  through  the  world,  with  its 
impulses  of  good  and  evil,  love  and  hate,  seemed 
to  have  been  cut  off  from  him.  He  neither  loved 
nor  hated  any  more.  There  was  the  nightmare  of 
this  death  in  life:  at  any  price  and  under  whatever 
inspiration,  he  longed  to  be  in  the  current  again. 
To-night  even  Irish  had  failed  him. 

He  had  walked  across  to  the  window,  and  came 
back  to  his  chair  at  the  table  where  was  spread  the 
sheet  of  paper  covered  with  scrawlings  and  erasures, 
which  was  all  the  last  two  hours  had  to  show.  And 
at  this  precise  moment,  as  he  looked  at  it  in  a  dull 
despair,  an  idea  flashed  across  the  blank  field  of  his 
brain.  Perhaps  there  might  still  be  some  spark  of 
life,  of  individuality,  latent  within  him,  which  he 
could  reach  by  that  surrender  of  his  conscious  self 
which  had  been  familiar  to  him  in  his  childhood. 
There,  just  in  front  of  him,  below  his  shaded  lamp 
lay  his  cigarette  case,  with  one  bright  point  of  light 
on  it,  and  lying  back  in  his  chair  with  half-closed 
eyes  he  gazed  at  this  in  order  to  produce  that  hyp- 
notic condition  in  which  the  subconscious  self  comes 
to  the  surface. 

Almost  at  once  the  mysterious  spell  began  to  act. 
Across  the  field  of  his  vision  there  began  to  pass 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  259 

waves  of  light  and  shadow,  moving  upwards  with 
a  regular  motion,  while  through  them  lilve  a  buoy- 
moored  in  a  rough  sea  there  remained  steadfast  that 
bright  speck  in  his  cigarette  case,  now  for  a  moment 
submerged  in  a  wave  of  shadow,  but  appearing 
again.  Upwards  and  upwards  moved  the  waves, 
and  then  it  seemed  that  it  was  they  which  were  sta- 
tionary, while  he  himself  was  sinking  down  through 
them,  as  through  crystal-clear  waters,  looking  up 
at  the  sunny  surface  which  rose  ever  higher  and 
more  remote  above  him.  As  he  sank  into  this  dim 
delicious  world,  the  sensation  of  being  alive  again 
and  in  touch  with  living  intelligences  grew  mo- 
mently more  vivid.  It  was  the  very  seat  and  hearth 
of  life  that  in  him  before  had  been  cold  and  numbed: 
now,  though  surface  perceptions  were  gradually 
withdrawn,  his  essential  being  tingled  with  the  rap- 
ture of  returning  vitality. 

Once  or  twice  during  this  descent  his  ears,  through 
which  there  poured  the  roar  of  rushing  waters,  had 
been  startled  as  by  some  surface  perception  of  the 
sound  of  loud  rappings  somewhere  in  the  room,  but 
they  had  not  disturbed  his  steadfast  gaze  at  the 
point  of  light,  and  once  again  he  had  heard  a  voice 
faintly  familiar  near  him  that  said,  "I  am  coming." 
But  he  was  far  too  intent  on  his  progress  to  let  the 
interruption  break  in  upon  it,  and  indeed  those 
sounds  seemed  to  be  less  an  interruption  than  a 
confirmation  to  his  surface-senses  of  what  was  hap- 
pening to  him.  .  .  .  And  then  he  knew,  as  he  sank 
down  at  rest  at  last  on  the  bottom  of  that  unsounded 
sea,  who  it  was  who  was  filling  him  with  the  sense 
of  life  again,  for  echoing  not  only  in  his  ears,  but 
somewhere  in  his  soul,  he  heard  the  same  voice, 
which   he  now  clearly  recognised,  and  which  had 


260  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

spoken  to  him  years  ago  at  Schonberg,  say,  "Archie, 
I  am  here." 

It  was  as  if  (as  was  indeed  the  case)  Archie  was 
conscious  in  two  planes  of  consciousness.  All  round 
him  and  high  above  him  were  the  gleams  and 
aqueous  shadows  of  the  subconscious  world,  but 
here  and  there  those  seemed  to  be  pierced,  and 
through  them,  as  through  rents  of  mist,  he  had 
glimpses  of  the  material  plane.  He  could  see,  for 
instance,  part  of  the  sheet  of  paper  in  front  of  him, 
and  he  could  see  the  far  corner  of  his  table.  And 
by  it,  very  faint  and  unfocusable,  part  in  the  mists 
of  the  subconscious  world,  part  in  the  harder  out- 
lines of  reality,  there  was  standing  the  figure  of  a 
young  man.  How  it  was  dressed  he  could  not  see, 
or  did  not  care  to  notice,  but  when  for  a  moment 
the  mist  cleared  off  its  face,  he  recognised  the  strong 
likeness  to  himself,  even  as  he  had  recognised  the 
likeness  to  himself  in  the  photograph  which  he  had 
found  in  the  cache.  But  here  was  no  photograph: 
instead,  mysteriously  translated  into  outlines  and 
features  visible  to  mortal  eyes,  was  the  semblance 
of  Martin  himself.  It  wavered  and  flickered,  like 
the  blown  flame  of  a  candle,  but  it  was  there,  stand- 
ing at  the  comer  of  his  table.  And  as  it  spoke,  he 
saw  the  mouth  move  and  the  throat  throb. 

"I  have  managed  to  come  back,  Archie,"  he  said, 
"because  you  were  in  such  trouble,  and  because  you 
didn't  understand  the  warning  you  had.  Do  you 
understand  now?" 

The  whole  explanation  flashed  on  him. 

"The  dream?"  he  said.  "The  white  statue  of 
Helena  and  the  worms?" 

"Surely.  It  was  odd  you  didn't  understand.  You 
only  loved  the  white  statue.     You  loathed  what 


ACROSS  THE  STREAIVI  261- 

came  out  of  it,  just  as  you  loathe  what  has  come' 
out  of  the  white  statue  since." 

Archie  leaned  forward,  peering  into  the  mist  that 
at  this  moment  quite  enveloped  the  figure. 

"But  I  love  her  too,  Martin,"  he  cried.  *'I  long 
for  her." 

Out  of  the  mist  came  the  unseen  voice. 

"You  long  for  what  she  looks  like,"  it  said.  "You 
hate  what  she  is." 

"That  may  be.  But  the  whole  thing  makes  me 
utterly  miserable." 

Table  and  figure,  the  white  paper  and  the  tray 
with  syphon  and  whiskey  became  suddenly  visible. 

"You  must  learn  not  to  be  miserable,"  said  that 
compassionate  mouth.  "Be  very  patient,  Archie. 
You  think  you  are  stumbling  through  absolute 
darkness,  but  in  reality  you  are  flooded  with  light. 
I  can't  see  the  darkness  which  you  feel  is  so  im- 
penetrable: I  only  see  you  walking  towards  the 
ineffable  radiance,  always  moving  towards  it. 
Occupy  yourself,  and  try  to  grow  indifferent  to  that 
part  of  Helena  which  you  hate.  Cling  to  love  al- 
ways. Just  cling  to  love.  Never  hate:  sometime 
you  may  get  to  love  what  you  hated." 

The  voice  sank  lower. 

"The  power  is  failing,"  it  said.  "I  am  losing 
touch  with  you." 

"Oh,  don't  go,"  said  Archie;  "Martin,  stop  with 
me.    Talk  to  me.    I  want  to  say  so  much  to  you." 

He  reached  out  his  hand  and  for  a  moment  out  of 
the  sunlit  mists  that  had  gathered  again  he  felt, 
perfectly  clearly,  the  touch  of  fingers  that  pressed 
his.  But  they  died  away  into  nothing  as  he  clasped 
them,  and  the  voice  faded  to  the  faintest  whisper. 


262  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"I  will  come  again,  dear  Archie/'  it  said.  "It  is 
easiest  at  night." 

The  lines  of  shadow  and  light  that  undulated 
before  his  eyes  grew  thinner  and  more  transparent, 
and  he  could  see  the  drawn-back  window-curtains 
and  the  black  square  of  the  night  through  them. 
The  bright  point  at  which  he  had  been  looking 
withdrew  onto  the  surface  of  his  cigarette-case,  and 
slowly  the  whole  room  emerged  into  its  normal  ap- 
pearance. Archie  became  suddenly  conscious  of  a 
profound  physical  fatigue,  and  leaving  all  thought 
and  reflection  till  to-morrow  put  out  his  light  and 
stepped  into  bed.  But  instead  of  the  empty  desola- 
tion that  had  made  a  wilderness  round  him,  waters 
of  healing  had  broken  out  in  his  soul,  and  the  desert 
blossomed.  .  .  . 

Archie  slept  that  night  the  clean  out-door  sleep 
which  he  had  been  used  to  at  Silorno,  and  woke  next 
morning,  not  with  the  heavy  crapulous  drowsiness 
that  now  accompanied  his  wakings,  but  with  the 
alert  refreshment  that  slumber  in  the  open  air  gave 
him.  He  sprang  into  full  possession  of  his  faculties 
and  complete  memory  of  what  he  had  experienced 
the  night  before.  He  was  quite  aware  that  any 
scientific  auditor  (science  being  best  defined  as  the 
habit  of  denying  what  passes  the  power  of  material- 
istic explanation)  would  have  said  that  tired  with 
the  effort  to  write  he  had  fallen  asleep  over  his 
table  and  dreamed.  But  he  knew  better  than  that : 
the  experience  with  its  audible  and  visible  phenom- 
ena, was  not  a  dream,  nor  did  it  ever  so  faintly 
resemble  one.  A  dream  at  best  was  a  fantastic  un- 
reality :  what  he  had  experienced  at  his  writing-table 
last  night  was  based  upon  the  firm  foundations  of 
reality  itself.     It  was  no  hash-up  of  his  own  con- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  263 

scious  or  sub-conscious  reflections,  no  extract  dis- 
stilled  from  his  own  mind.  It  came  from  without 
and  entered  into  him,  and  unhke  most  of  the  com- 
munications that  purported  to  reach  the  minds  of 
sensitives  from  the  world  that  lay  beyond  that  per- 
ceived by  their  normal  senses,  there  was  guidance 
and  help  in  it.  Often,  if  not  invariably,  these  mes- 
sages from  beyond  were  trivial  and  nugatory ;  it  was 
a  just  criticism  to  say  that  the  senders  of  them  did 
not  appear  possessed  of  much  worth  the  trouble  of 
sending.  But  Martin's  visit  had  not  been  concerned 
with  trifles  like  that:  he  had  sympathised,  as  a 
brother  might,  with  Archie's  trouble:  he  had  ex- 
plained, so  that  Archie  could  no  longer  doubt, 
the  manner  of  the  warning  he  had  received  before 
but  not  understood,  he  had  spoken  of  Archie  as 
being  wrapped,  according  to  his  own  sensations,  in 
impenetrable  darkness,  though  to  one  who  looked 
from  beyond  he  was  ever  moving  towards  the  in- 
effable radiance.  It  was  the  same  discarnate  intelli- 
gence that  when  he  was  a  child  had  conveyed  to  him 
the  knowledge  of  that  cache  under  the  fir  tree,  which 
was  unknown  to  any  living  being  (as  men  count 
living)  and  that  could  not  have  been  conveyed  to 
him  through  any  telepathic  channel  except  one  that 
had  its  source  and  spring  not  in  this  world.  And 
now  from  the  same  source  had  come  this  message 
from  one  who  saw  through  the  gross  darkness  of 
Archie's  emptiness  and  bitter  heart,  and  had  prom- 
ised to  be  with  him  again.  Archie  had  no  doubt 
whatever,  as  he  got  up  with  an  alertness  that  had 
not  been  his  for  weeks,  of  the  genuineness  of  the 
communication.  It  linked  on  with  Martin's  pre- 
vious visits,  and  the  glimpses  he  had  received  of 
the  materiahsed  form  of  his  visitor  confirmed  ex- 


264  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

actly  the  recognition,  years  before,  of  the  photo- 
graph he  had  found  in  the  cache  which  Martin  had 
told  him  of.  And  the  Power  in  Whose  hands  were 
all  things  had  compassionated  his  trouble  and  had 
allowed,  in  pity  for  his  heed,  the  gateless  barrier  to 
be  again  unbarred,  and  a  spirit,  individual  and  rec- 
ognised, to  pass  to  and  fro  between  him  and  the 
realms  of  the  light  invisible. 

It  was  just  when  his  soul  despaired  that  this 
happened :  when  he  felt  himself  denuded  of  all  that 
he  had  loved,  empty  and  cast  out  from  life  itself. 
Just  in  that  hour  had  Martin  been  permitted  to 
come  back  to  him.  .  .  . 

He  found  his  mother  and  Jessie  at  breakfast  when 
he  went  down :  his  father  as  usual  had  not  appeared, 
and  again,  as  last  night  when  he  came  out  of  the 
dining-room  after  a  prolonged  sitting,  he  felt  kindly 
and  affectionate.  But  that  was  not  from  the  sottish 
satisfaction  of  wine :  the  light  came  from  that  subtle 
window  in  his  soul,  from  which  once  more  the  shut- 
ters had  been  thrown  back.  The  moment  Jessie  saw 
him  she  felt  the  quality  of  that  change ;  he  was  like 
the  Archie  of  Silorno  again. 

"Good  morning,  mother  darling,"  he  said  kissing 
her.  "Good  morning,  Jessie.  How  bright  and  early 
we  all  are.  And  has  everybody  slept  as  serenely  as 
I?" 

'*You  didn't  sleep  very  long,  Archie,  did  you?" 
asked  the  girl,  whose  room  was  next  his.  "I  heard 
you  hammering  at  something  after  I  had  gone  to 
bed,  and  I  awoke  once  and  heard  you  talking  to 
somebody." 

Archie,  at  the  side  table,  helping  himself  to  sau- 
'^age  paused  a  moment.  He  made  up  his  mind  that 
for  the  present,  anyhow,  he  preferred  that  Jessie 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  265 

should  not  know  about  the  return  of  Martin.  Per- 
haps he  would  tell  her  quietly  when  alone.  .  .  . 

"Hammering?"  he  said.  "Yes,  there  was  a  de- 
spatch case,  and  I  couldn't  find  the  key.  So  I 
whacked  it  open.  About  talking — yes,  I  was  writing 
last  night,  and  I  believe  I  read  it  aloud  to  myself 
before  I  went  to  bed.  I  never  know  what  a  thing 
is  like  unless  I  read  it  aloud." 

"Oh,  do  read  it  aloud  to  me,"  said  the  girl. 

"When  it's  in  order:  it  wasn't  quite  in  order  when 
I  read  it  over.    But  I  was  sleepy  and  went  to  bed." 

Jessie  said  no  more,  but  for  some  reason  this  ac- 
count left  her  unsatisfied.  The  hammering  had  not 
sounded  quite  like  the  forcing  of  the  lock  of  a 
despatch  case:  it  had  been  like  sharp  blows  on 
wood,  and  last  night  for  a  moment  she  had  thought 
that  Archie  was  tapping  loudly  on  the  door  that 
separated  their  rooms.  It  had  stopped,  and  began 
again  a  little  later.  As  for  the  talking,  it  had 
sounded  precisely  like  two  voices:  one  undeniably 
Archie's,  the  other  low  and  indistinct. 

Archie  changed  the  subject  the  moment  he  had 
given  this  explanation,  and  made  some  very  sur- 
prising observations. 

"Helena  is  married  on  the  10th  of  August,  isn't 
she?"  he  asked.  "I  must  get  her  a  wedding-present. 
And  I  shall  come  to  her  wedding.  That  will  con- 
vey my  good  wishes  in  the  usual  manner,  won't 
it?    I  want  to  assure  her  of  them." 

Both  of  the  women  looked  at  him  in  the  intensest 
surprise.  To  Lady  Tintagel  he  had  never  mentioned 
Helena's  name  since  the  day  she  had  accepted  Lord 
Harlow,  while  to  Jessie,  only  last  night,  he  had 
loaded  her  with  the  bitterest  reproaches,  and  had 
spoken  of  the  abject  despair  and  emptiness  which 


266  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

had  come  upon  him  in  consequence  of  what  she  had 
done.  And  he  looked  at  each  of  them  in  turn  with 
that  vivid  brilliant  glance,  which  had  been  so  char- 
acteristic of  him. 

"Yes,  I  make  a  public  recantation,"  he  said.  "It 
suddenly  dawned  on  me  last  night  that  I  have  been 
behaving  just  about  as  stupidly  as  a  man  can  be- 
have. I've  said  nothing  to  you,  Mother,  but  Jessie 
knows.  I  want  her  to  try  to  forget  what,  for  in- 
stance, I  said  to  her  last  night.  I  can  do  better  than 
that,  and  at  any  rate  I  propose  to  try.  All  the  time 
that  I  haven't  been  mad  with  resentment  I've  been 
dead.  Well,  I  hereupon  announce  the  resurrection 
of  Archibald.  That's  all  I've  got  to  say  on  the  sub- 
ject." 

At  that  moment,  swift  as  an  arrow's  flight,  and 
certain  as  an  intuition,  there  came  to  Jessie  the  odd 
idea  that  it  was  not  Archie  who  was  speaking  at  all. 
It  might  be  his  lips  and  tongue  that  fashioned  the 
audible  syllables,  but  it  was  not  he  in  the  sense  that 
it  had  been  he,  down  by  the  lake  last  night.  Savage 
and  bitter  as  he  had  been  there,  he  was  authentic: 
now,  all  that  he  said,  despite  the  absolute  natural- 
ness of  his  manner,  seemed  to  ring  false.  She  could 
not  account  for  this  impression  in  the  least:  it  was 
not  the  suddenness  of  the  change  in  his  attitude, 
though  that  surprised  her:  it  was  some  remoter 
quality,  which  her  brain  could  not  analyse.  Some- 
thing more  intimate  to  herself  than  her  brain  had 
perceived  it,  and  mere  thought,  mere  reason,  was 
blind  to  it. 

Archie  did  not  accompany  his  mother  and  Jessie 
to  church  that  morning,  but  waited  for  Lord  Tinta- 
gel's  appearance,  and  the  discussion  of  the  good 
resolutions  which  were  to  be  so  beneficial  to  each 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  2G7 

of  them.  He  sat  in  his  father's  study,  and  having  to 
wait  some  time  before  he  made  a  shaky  and  disas- 
trous entrance,  thought  over,  in  connection  with 
the  events  of  last  night,  what  he  had  said  that  morn- 
ing at  breakfast.  That  surely  was  the  gist  of  Mar- 
tin's message  to  him:  he  must  try  to  grow  indif- 
ferent to  that  part  of  Helena  which  he  hated;  he 
must  learn  not  to  be  miserable,  to  grasp  the  fact 
that  the  darkness  in  which  he  seemed  to  walk  ap- 
peared to  Martin  no  darkness  at  all,  but  a  journey, 
light-enveloped,  towards  the  ineffable  radiance.  It 
was  in  the  glow  of  that  revelation  that  he  had  spoken 
at  breakfast,  trusting  in  the  truth  of  it,  and  yet,  as 
he  sat  now,  waiting  for  his  father,  he  knew  he  did 
not  feel  the  truth  of  it.  But  in  obedience  to  Martin, 
that  was  how  he  had  to  behave.  He  must  behave 
like  that — that  was  what  Martin  meant — until  he 
felt  the  soul  within  him  grow  up,  like  some  cellar- 
sown  plant,  into  the  light.  Hopefully  and  bravely 
had  he  announced  his  intention,  but  now  when  in 
cooler  mood  he  scrutinised  it,  he  began  to  feel  how 
tremendous  was  the  task  set  him,  how  firmly-rooted 
that  passionate  resentment  which  must  be  alche- 
mised  into  love.  It  had  been  true — Martin  saw  that 
so  well — that  it  was  the  white  statue,  the  fair  form 
he  had  loved,  and  loved  still  with  no  less  ardour 
than  before.  That,  it  seemed,  according  to  his  in- 
terpretation, Archie  must  keep:  it  was  the  other 
that  must  be  transformed.  But  it  would  have  been 
an  easier  task,  he  thought,  to  let  his  love  slide  into 
indifference,  than  raise  his  hate  to  the  same  level. 
But  that  was  not  the  King's  road,  the  Royal  Banner 
did  not  flame  along  such  mean-souled  ways  as  these. 
He  must  cling  to  such  love  for  Helena  as  he  had,  and 


268  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

transform  the  hate.    But  first  and  foremost  cling  to 
the  love.  .  .  . 

It  was  thus  that  he  stated  to  himself  the  message 
that  IMartin  seemed  to  have  brought  him  last  night, 
and  stated  thus  it  was  a  spiritual  aspiration  of  high 
endeavour,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him  how,  stated 
ever  so  little  differently,  and  yet  following  the  lines 
of  the  communication,  it  assumed  a  diabolical  as- 
pect. The  love  which  he  had  for  Helena  was  a 
carnal  love,  that  sprang  from  desire  for  her  en- 
chanting prettiness,  that  love  he  was  to  cling  to,  not 
sacrifice  an  iota  of  it.  The  hate  that  he  felt  for 
her,  arising  from  her  meanness,  her  encouragement 
of  him  for  just  so  long  as  she  was  uncertain  whether 
she  could  capture  a  man  who  was  nothing  to  her, 
but  whose  position  and  wealth  she  coveted,  Archie 
was  to  transform  into  indifference,  he  was  to  get 
over  it.  But  though  it  was  hate,  it  had  a  spiritual 
quality,  for  it  was  hatred  of  what  was  mean  and 
base ;  whereas  his  love  for  her  had  no  spiritual  qual- 
ity: it  was  no  more  than  lust,  and  to  that  under  the 
name  of  love  he  was  to  cling.  .  .  .  Here  then  was 
another  interpretation  of  the  words  he  had  heard 
last  night,  and  according  to  it  it  would  have  been 
fitter  to  attribute  the  message  to  some  intelligence 
far  other  than  the  innocent  soul  of  the  brother  who 
had  so  mysteriously  communicated  with  him  in 
childlike  ways.  But  that  interpretation  (and  here 
was  the  subtlety  of  it)  never  entered  Archie's  head 
at  all.  A  message  of  apparent  consolation  and  hope 
had  come  to  him  when  he  was  feeling  the  full  blast 
of  his  bitterness,  the  wind  that  blew  from  the 
empty  desert  of  his  heart  and  his  stagnant  brain. 
He  had  called  for  help  from  the  everlasting  and  un- 
seen Cosmos  that  encompasses  the  little  blind  half- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  269 

v.'orld  of  material  existence,  and  from  it,  somewhere 
from  it,  a  light  had  shone  into  his  dark  soul,  no  mere 
flicker,  or  so  it  seemed  this  morning,  like  that  spu- 
rious sunshine  which  he  and  his  father  basked  in 
together,  but  rays  from  a  more  potent  luminary. 

Till  now,  Archie  with  the  ordinary  impulse  of  a 
disappointed  man  had  tried  to  banish  from  his 
mind  (with  certain  exterior  aids)  the  picture  of  the 
face  and  the  form  that  he  loved.  But  now  he  not 
only  need  not,  but  he  must  not  do  that  any  longer: 
he  had  to  cling  to  love.  And  while  he  waited  for 
his  father  he  kept  recalling  certain  poignant  mo- 
ments in  the  growth  of  Helena's  bewitchment  of 
him.  One  was  the  night  when  they  sat  together  for 
the  last  time  in  the  dark  garden  at  Silorno,  and  he 
wondered  whether  the  suggestion  of  a  cousinly  kiss 
would  disturb  her.  What  had  kept  him  back  was 
the  knowledge  that  it  would  not  be  quite  a  cousinly 
kiss  on  his  part.  .  .  .  Then  there  was  the  moment 
when  he  had  caught  sight  of  her  on  the  platform  at 
Charing  Cross:  she  had  come  to  meet  his  train  on  his 
arrival  from  abroad.  .  .  .  Best  of  all  perhaps,  for 
there  his  passion  had  most  been  fed  with  the  fuel 
of  her  touch,  had  been  the  dance  at  his  aunt's  that 
same  night  when  the  rhythm  of  the  waltz  and  the 
melodious  command  of  the  music  had  welded  their 
two  young  bodies  into  one.  It  was  not  "he  and  she" 
who  had  danced:  it  was  just  one  perfect  and  com- 
plete individual.  Here,  on  this  quiet  Sunday  morn- 
ing, the  thought  of  that  made  him  tingle  and  throb. 
It  was  that  sort  of  memory,  which  Martin  told  him 
he  must  keep  alive.  ...  It  was  his  resentment,  his 
anger  that  must  die,  not  that.  Helena  had  chosen 
somebody  else,  but  he  must  long  for  her  still. 

Lord    Tintagel    appeared,    unusually   white   and 


270  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

shaky,  and  as  lunch-time  was  approaching  he  rang 
for  the  apparatus  of  cocktails. 

"I  sat  up  late  last  night,  Archie,"  he  said,  "both- 
ering myself  over  those  Russian  shares.  It's  really 
of  you  and  your  mother  I  am  thinking.  It  won't  be 
long  before  all  the  mines  in  Russia  will  matter  noth- 
ing to  me,  for  a  few  feet  of  earth  will  be  all  I  shall 
require.  But  before  I  went  to  bed  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  I  was  wrong  to  worry.  I  think  the 
scare  will  soon  pass,  and  the  shares  recover.  Indeed, 
I  think  the  wisest  thing  would  be  not  to  sell,  and  cut 
my  loss,  but  to  buy  more,  at  the  lower  price.  I  shall 
telegraph  to  my  broker  to-morrow.  But  I  got  into 
no  end  of  a  perplexity  about  it  all,  and  I  feel  all  to 
bits  this  morning." 

He  mixed  himself  a  cocktail,  with  a  shaking  hand, 
and  shufiled  back  to  his  chair. 

"Help  yourself,  Archie,"  he  said.  "Let  me  see,  we 
were  going  to  have  a  talk  about  something  this 
morning.  What  was  it?  That  worry  about  my 
Russians  has  put  everything  out  of  my  head." 

Once  again  as  last  night  it  struck  Archie  as  im- 
mensely comical  that  this  white-faced  shaky  man, 
who  was  his  father,  should  be  pulling  himself  to- 
gether with  a  strong  cocktail  in  order  to  discuss 
the  virtues  of  temperance  and  make  the  necessary 
resolutions  whereby  to  acquire  them.  He  felt 
neither  pity  nor  sympathy  with  him  nor  yet  dis- 
gust: it  was  only  the  humour  of  the  situation,  the 
farcical  absurdity  of  it  that  appealed  to  him. 

"We  were  going  to  make  good  resolutions  not  to 
drink  quite  so  freely,"  he  said. 

Lord  Tintagel  finished  his  cocktail  and  put  the 
glass  down. 

"To  be  sure:  that  was  it,"  he  said.    "It's  time  we 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  271 

took  ourselves  iii  hand.  Your  grandfather  gave 
me  a  warnhig,  and  I  wish  to  God  I  had  taken  it. 
But  we'll  help  each  other,  eh,  Archie.  That  will 
make  it  easier  for  both  of  us." 

''I  don't  care  a  toss  whether  I  take  alcohol  or  not," 
said  Archie.  "As  you  remarked  last  night,  father, 
I  hardly  touched  it  till  a  month  ago." 

Lord  Tintagel  laughed. 

"But  you've  shewn  remarkable  aptitude  for  it 
since,"  he  said.  "You  found  no  difficulty  at  all  in 
getting  the  hang  of  the  thing." 

Faintly,  like  a  lost  echo,  there  entered  into 
Archie's  mind  the  inherent  horror  of  such  an  inter- 
view between  father  and  son.  But  it  was  drowned 
by  the  inward  laughter  with  which  the  scene  in- 
spired him,  and  his  spirit,  whatever  it  was  that  held 
the  reins,  looked  on  as  from  some  curtained  box, 
where,  unseen,  it  could  giggle  at  unseemliness,  at 
some  uncensored  farce.  Last  night  the  same  thing 
had  amused  him,  but  then  he  was  in  that  contented 
oblivion  of  his  troubles  which  alcohol  lent  him, 
whereas  now  it  was  morning  and  the  time  when  he 
was  least  likely  to  take  any  but  the  most  bitter  and 
savage  view  of  a  situation.  But  all  morning  he  had 
been  possessed  by  the  sunny  lightness  of  heart  with 
which  Martin's  communication  of  last  night  had 
inspired  him.  He  must  be  patient,  disperse  and 
blow  away  by  the  great  winds  of  love  the  hatred  and 
intolerance  that  had  been  obscuring  his  soul.  And 
surely  it  was  not  only  for  Helena  that  he  must  feel 
that  nobler  impulse:  all  that  touched  his  daily  life 
must  be  treated  with  the  same  manly  tenderness. 
Nothing  must  shock  him,  nothing  must  iri-itate  him, 
for  such  emotions  were  narrow  and  limited,  incom- 
patible with  the  oceanic  quality  of  love.    All  this. 


272  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

seemed  directly  inspired  by  Martin,  who  had 
brought  him  the  first  day  of  true  illumination.  And 
yet,  while  he  sunned  himself  in  the  light,  there  was 
something  that  apparently  belonged  to  his  bitter, 
his  disappointed  self  that  cried  out  for  recognition, 
insisting  that  these  dreams  of  love  and  tolerance 
were  of  a  fibre  infinitely  below  its  own  rebellious 
attitude.  It  strove  and  cried,  and  the  smooth  edi- 
fication of  Martin's  voice  silenced  it  again. 

The  suggested  compact  between  father  and  son 
soon  framed  itself  into  a  treaty.  There  was  to  be 
nothing  faddish  or  unreasonable  about  it:  wine 
should  circulate  in  its  accustomed  manner  at  din- 
ner, but  here,  once  and  for  all,  was  the  end  of  trays 
brought  to  Lord  Tintagel's  study.  A  glass  or  two 
of  claret  should  be  allowed  at  lunch,  but  the  cock- 
tails and  whiskies  in  the  evening  were  to  be  closed 
from  henceforth.  And  the  arrangement  entered  into 
appeared  to  be  of  a  quality  that  sacrificed  the  desire 
of  each  for  the  sake  of  the  other,  or  so  at  least  it 
passed  in  their  minds.  Archie  stifled  the  snigger  of 
his  inward  laughter,  and  thought  how  clear  was  his 
duty  to  save  his  father,  even  at  this  late  day,  from 
falling  wholly  into  the  pit  he  had  digged,  while  to 
his  father  the  compact  represented  itself  as  an  effort 
to  save  Archie  from  the  path  he  had  begun  to  tread. 
But  even  as  they  agreed  on  their  abstemious  pro- 
ceedings, there  occurred  to  the  minds  of  both  of 
them  a  vague  luminous  thought,  like  the  flash  of 
summer  lightning  far  away  which  might  move 
nearer.  .  .  . 

Once  again  Archie  was  seized  with  the  ironic 
mockery  that  all  the  time  had  quaked  like  a  quick- 
sand below  his  seriousness. 

"I  haven't  had  my  cocktail  yet,  father,"  he  said. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  273 

"ril  drink  success  to  our  scheme.  You've  had  yours, 
you  know.  Our  plan  dates  from  now,  when  I've  had 
mine.    After  that — no  more." 

His  father's  eyes  followed  him  as  he  mixed  the  gin 
and  vermouth. 

"Well,  upon  my  word,  Archie,"  he  said,  "you 
ought  to  ask  me  to  have  a  drink  with  you." 

Archie  somehow  clung  to  the  fact  that  his  father 
had  had  a  cocktail  and  that  he  had  not. 

"Have  another  by  all  means,"  he  said,  "and  I'll 
have  two.    But  do  be  fair,  father." 

And  once  again  the  horrible  sordidness  of  these 
proceedings  struck,  as  it  seemed,  his  worse  self — that 
part  of  himself  that  had  all  those  weeks  been  un- 
inspired by  Martin.  Martin  was  all  love  and  toler- 
ance: he  gave  no  directions  on  such  infinitesimal 
subjects  as  cocktails  or  whiskies.  He,  outside  the 
material  plane,  was  concerned  only  with  the  motive, 
the  spiritual  aspiration,  with  love  and  all  its  inef- 
fable indulgences. 

Jessie  was  leaving  for  town  early  next  morning, 
and  once  again,  as  twenty-four  hours  ago,  she  and 
Archie  strolled  out  after  dinner  into  the  dusk.  But 
to-night,  his  father  and  he  had  followed  the  two 
ladies  almost  immediately  into  the  drawing  room, 
and  the  two  younger  folk  had  left  their  elders  play- 
ing a  game  of  picquet  together.  That  was  quite  un- 
like the  usual  procedure  after  dinner,  for  Lord 
Tintagel  generally  dozed  for  a  little  in  his  chair,  and 
then  retired  to  his  study.  But  to-night  he  shewed 
no  inclination  either  to  doze  or  to  go  away,  and  it 
was  by  his  suggestion  that  the  card-tablg  had  been 
brought  out.  He  seemed  to  Jessie  rather  restless 
and  irritable,  and  had  said  that  it  was  impossible  to 
play  cards  with  chattering  going  on.    That  had  been 


274          ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

the  immediate  cause  of  her  stroll  with  Archie.  The 
remark  had  been  addressed  very  pointedly  to  Archie, 
and  also  very  rudely.  But  Archie,  checking  the  hot 
word  in  reply,  almost  without  an  effort,  had  apolo- 
gised for  the  distraction,  quietly  and  sufficiently. 

"Awfully  sorry,  father,"  he  had  said.  "I  didn't 
mean  to  disturb  you.    Come  out  for  a  stroll,  Jessie." 

So  there  they  were  in  the  dusk  again,  and  again 
Archie  took  Jessie's  arm. 

"Father's  rather  jumpy  to-night,"  he  said.  "But 
I  think  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  us:  he  may  wish  to 
talk  to  my  mother.  So  it  was  best  to  leave  them, 
wasn't  it?" 

Jessie's  heart  swelled.  She  knew  from  last  night 
all  that  Archie  was  suffering,  but  the  whole  day  he 
had  been  like  this,  gentle,  considerate,  infinitely 
sensitive  to  others,  incapable  of  taking  offence. 

"Yes,  much  best,"  she  said.  "You  know,  Archie, 
you  do  behave  nicely." 

He  knew  what  she  meant.  He  knew  how  easy  it 
would  have  been  to  make  some  provocative  re- 
joinder to  his  father.  But  simply,  he  had  not  wanted 
to.  Martin  and  Martin's  counsel  was  still  like  sun- 
light within  him. 

"Oh  bosh,"  he  said.  "The  gentle  answer  is  so 
much  easier  than  any  other.  I  should  have  had  to 
pump  up  indignation.  But  he  was  rather  rude, 
wasn't  he?  Isn't  it  lucky  that  one  doesn't  feel  like 
that?" 

Archie  drew  in  a  long  breath  of  the  vigorous  night 
air.  To  himself  it  seemed  that  he  drew  in  a  long 
breath  of  the  inspiration  that  had  come  to  him  last 
night. 

"Jessie,  I'm  going  to  save  father,"  he  said.  "We 
had  an  awfully  nice  talk  this  morning,  and  it  was  so 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  275 

pathetic.  He  has  been  a  heavy  drinker  for  years, 
you  know.  His  father  was  so  before  him.  So  one 
mustn't  think  it  is  liis  fault,  any  more  than  it  was 
my  fault  that  I  had  consumption  when  I  was  little. 
It  isn't  a  vice,  it's  a  disease.  Well,  I've  made  a 
compact  with  him.  I  found  that  he  had  got  it  into 
his  head — God  knows  how — that  I,  I  know  you'll 
laugh,  was  beginning  to  take  to  that  beastly  muck 
too.  So  I  saw  my  opportunity.  He's  fond  of  me, 
you  know;  he  really  is,  and  it  had  seriously  oc- 
curred to  him  that  I  was  getting  the  habit.  So  I 
took  advantage  of  that.  I  said  I  wouldn't  have  any 
more  whiskies  and  cocktails  if  he  wouldn't.  We 
made  a  bargain  about  it.  Without  swagger,  it  was 
rather  a  good  piece  of  work,  don't  you  think?" 

Jessie  knew  exactly  what  she  honestly  felt,  and 
what  she  honestly  felt  she  could  not  possibly  say. 
Certainly  it  was  a  good  bargain  on  Archie's  part, 
but  the  virtue  of  it  would  affect  not  only  Lord  Tinta- 
gel  but  Archie  hunself.  But  the  knowledge  of  that 
added  to  the  sincerity  of  her  reply. 

"Oh  Archie,"  she  said,  "that  was  brilliant  of  you. 
Do  you — do  you  think  your  father  will  keep  to  it?" 

"He  can't  help  it,"  said  Archie  triumphantly. 
"I'm  going  to  be  down  here,  except  when  I  go  up  to 
town  for  Helena's  wedding,  and  I'm  always  in  and 
out  of  his  room.  I  should  know  if  he  doesn't  keep 
to  it." 

He  paused,  thinking  out  further  checks  on  his 
father. 

"There's  WilUam  too,"  he  said.  "William's  de- 
voted to  me,  simply,  as  far  as  I  can  tell,  because  he 
saved  my  life  when  I  was  a  tiny  kid.  If  I  ask  Wil- 
liam  to   tell  me  whether  my   father  gets  drinks 


276  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

brought  him  quietly  when  I'm  not  there,  I'm  sure 
he  will  let  me  know.    How  would  that  be?" 

Jessie  had  an  uncomfortable  moment.  The  idea 
of  getting  a  servant  to  report  to  Archie  on  his 
father's  proceedings  was  as  repugnant  to  her  as,  she 
thought,  it  must  be  to  Archie.  Possibly  his  main 
motive,  that  of  taking  care  of  his  father,  was  so 
dominant  in  him  that  he  did  not  pause  to  consider 
the  legitimacy  of  any  means.  But,  somehow,  it  was 
very  unlike  Archie  to  have  conceived  so  back-stairs 
an  idea. 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  quite  do  that,"  she  said.  "You 
wouldn't  either,  Archie." 

"I  don't  see  why  not.  The  cure  is  more  import- 
ant than  the  means." 

Jessie  suddenly  felt  a  sort  of  bewilderment.  It 
could  scarcely  have  been  Archie  who  said  that,  ac- 
cording to  her  knowledge  of  Archie. 

"But  surely  that's  impossible,"  she  said.  "What 
would  you  feel  if  you  found  your  father  had  been 
setting  William  to  spy  and  report  on  you?" 

Archie's  voice  suddenly  rose. 

"Oh,  what  nonsense,"  he  said.  "You  speak  as  if 
I  was  going  to  break  my  bargain  with  my  father.  I 
never  heard  such  nonsense." 

Once  again  the  sense  of  bewilderment  came  over 
Jessie.    That  wasn't  like  Archie.  .  .  . 

"I  don't  imply  anything  of  the  kind,"  she  said. 
"But  I  do  feel  that  it's  impossible  for  you  to  get 
William  to  have  an  eye  on  your  father,  and  report 
to  you.  And  I'm  almost  certain  that  you  really 
agree  with  me." 

Archie  considered  this,  and  then  laughed. 

"I  suppose  I  do,"  he  said.  "But  the  ardour  of  the 
newly-born  missionary  was  hot  within  me.     Are 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  277 

missionaries  born  or  made,  by  the  way?  Anyhow, 
I'm  a  missionary  now.  Nobody  could  have  guessed 
that  I  was  going  to  be  a  missionary." 

Tlieir  stroll  to-night  was  only  up  and  down  the 
broad  gravel  walk  in  front  of  the  windows.  It  was 
very  hot  and  all  the  drawing-room  windows  were 
open,  so  also  were  those  of  Lord  TintageFs  study 
and  the  windowed  door  that  led  into  the  garden. 
As  they  passed  this  Archie  saw  a  footman  bring  in 
a  tray  on  which  were  set  the  usual  evening  liquids, 
and  he  guessed  that  his  father  had  forgotten  or  had 
omitted  to  say  that  the  syphon  and  some  ice  was  all 
that  would  be  needed.  He  thought  for  a  moment, 
intently  and  swiftly. 

"Jessie,  they've  brought  in  that  beastly  whiskey 
again,"  he  said.  "I  must  tell  them  to  take  it  away: 
my  father  mustn't  see  it.  Just  go  down  opposite 
the  drawing-room  windows,  will  you,  and  make  sure 
my  father  is  still  playing  cards,  while  I  take  the 
bottle  away.    Make  me  a  sign." 

Archie  waited  outside  till  this  was  given,  and  then 
went  into  his  father's  room.  The  man  had  gone 
away,  and  he  took  up  the  whiskey-bottle  with  the 
intention  of  putting  it  back  in  the  dining  room.  But 
even  as  his  fingers  closed  on  it,  without  warning  his 
desire  for  drink  swooped  down  on  him  like  the  com- 
ing of  a  summer  storm.  He  half  filled  a  glass  with 
the  spirit,  poured  soda-water  on  the  top  and  gulped 
it  down.  That  was  what  he  wanted,  and  then  with 
a  swift  cunning  he  rinsed  out  the  glass  with  soda- 
water,  drank  that  also,  and  filling  it  half  up  again 
with  water,  put  it  on  the  table  by  the  chair  where 
he  usually  sat.  Then  there  was  the  bottle  to  dis- 
pose of,  and  he  went  out  into  the  hall  to  take  it  to 
the  dining  room.    But  even  as  he  crossed  the  foot  of 


278  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

the  stairs  another  notion  irresistibly  possessed  him, 
and  up  he  went  three  steps  at  a  time,  and  concealed 
it  behind  some  clothes  in  his  chest  of  drawers.  He 
had  discovered  an  excellent  reason  for  doing  that, 
for  if  he  left  it  in  the  dining  room  his  father  might 
find  it  there.  It  was  much  safer  in  his  room.  Then, 
tingling  and  content,  and  feeling  that  Martin  would 
approve  (indeed  it  seemed  that  he  had  prompted) 
this  missionary  enterprise,  he  rejoined  Jessie  again, 
his  eyes  sparkling,  his  mouth  gay  and  quivering. 

"I've  done  it,"  he  said.  "I  thought  at  first  of  tak- 
ing the  bottle  to  the  dining  room,  but  my  father 
might  have  found  it  there." 

"What  did  you  do  with  it?"  asked  Jessie. 

Archie  took  no  time  to  consider. 

"I  rang  the  bell  and  told  James  to  take  it  away 
again  to  the  pantry,"  he  said. 

"That  was  clever  of  you,  Archie." 

"I  know  that.  They're  still  playing  cards,  aren't 
they?  Let's  have  one  more  turn  then.  Jessie,  I 
wish  you  weren't  going  away  to-morrow." 

"I  must.  I  promised  my  father  to  get  back.  And 
Helena  wants  me." 

"Oh  well,  that  settles  it,"  said  Archie.  "Helena 
must  have  all  she  wants.  That  is  part  of  Helena, 
isn't  it?" 

For  a  moment  Jessie  thought  that  he  was  speak- 
ing with  the  bitterest  irony,  but  immediately  after- 
wards she  withdrew  that  for  it  struck  her  that  Archie 
was,  in  some  inexplicable  way,  perfectly  sincere, 
there  was  the  unmistakeable  ring  of  truth  in  his 
voice;  he  meant  what  he  said.  And  as  if  to  endorse 
that  he  went  on, 

"We  all  do  what  Helena  wants:  you,  I,  the  Brad- 
shaw,  all  of  us.    She  wants  to  be  loved,  isn't  that  it? 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  2T9 

and  to  want  to  be  loved  is  a  royal  command  all 
proper  people  must  obey.  I  have  been  a  rebel,  you 
know,  and,  oh,  Jessie,  how  awfully  ashamed  I  am. 
I  let  myself  hate  Helena,  I  encouraged  myself  to 
hate  her.  But  I've  returned  to  my  allegiance,  thank 
God." 

She  turned  an  enquiring  face  to  him. 

"Archie,  dear,"  she  said,  *'I  am  so  thankful  that 
you  are  so  changed.  You're  utterly  different  to  what 
you  have  been.  Last  night  you  were  bitter  and 
terrible:  you  made  my  heart  ache.  But  all  to-day 
you've  been  absolutely  your  old  self  again.  And 
it's  all  so  immense  and  so  sudden.  Can't  you  tell 
me  at  all  what  caused  it?  I  should  love  to  know, 
if  you  feel  like  telling  me." 

He  took  her  arm  again. 

"I'll  tell  you  one  thing/'  he  said.  "You  did  me 
a  lot  of  good  last  night  when  you  made  me  realise 
your  friendship.  That  helped:  I  do  believe  that 
helped." 

Jessie  could  not  quite  accept  this,  though  it 
warmed  her  heart  that  Archie  thought  of  that. 

"But  you  always  knew  my  friendship,"  she  said. 

"I  know  I  did.  But  I  appreciated  it  most  when  I 
felt  absolutely  empty.  There's  something  more 
than  that,  though.  .  .  ." 

He  paused. 

"Ah,  do  tell  me,"  said  Jessie. 

He  could  not  make  up  his  mind  on  the  instant, 
for  he  knew  Jessie's  repugnance  to  the  whole  idea 
of  those  supernatural  communications.  But  he  felt 
warm  and  alert  and  expansive,  besides  her  friend- 
ship, which  he  truly  valued,  yearned  for  his  confi- 
dence, which  is  the  meat  and  drink  of  friendship. 
Sometimes  it  was  necessary  to  deceive  your  friends; 


280  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

it  had  been  necessary  for  him  to  deceive  her  about 
the  disposal  of  the  whiskey-bottle,  but,  though  she 
might  not  approve,  he  could  at  least  tell  her  what 
had  made  sunshine  all  day  for  him,  and  what  was 
making  it  now. 

"It's  this,"  he  said.  "Martin  came  to  me  last 
night.  I  talked  to  him,  I  saw  him.  It  has  put  me 
right:  he  has  made  me  see  things  quite  differently. 
He  told  me  to  be  patient,  to  cling  to  love  always,  to 
let  my  hate  be  turned  into  love.  I  can't  express  to 
you  at  all  what  a  difference  that  made  to  me.  I 
felt  he  knew,  he  could  see,  as  he  said,  that  the  dark- 
ness in  which  I  thought  I  walked  was  not  darkness 
at  all.  I  know  you  have  no  sympathy  with  his  com- 
ing to  me :  it  seems  to  you  either  nonsense  or  some- 
thing very  dangerous.  But  I  know  you  have  sym- 
pathy with  the  result  of  it." 

Suddenly  his  explanation  of  the  voi/3es  she  had 
heard  last  night  occurred  to  him. 

"When  you  told  me  this  morning  that  you  had 
heard  talking  in  my  room,"  he  said,  "I  did  not  mean 
to  tell  you  about  Martin,  and  so  I  invented  some- 
thing— oh,  yes,  that  I  had  been  reading  aloud  what  I 
had  written — to  account  for  it.  It  wasn't  true,  but 
I  had  to  tell  some  fib.  And  did  you  really  hear  con- 
versation going  on?    That's  awfully  interesting." 

"I  thought  I  did,"  said  she.  "And  there  was 
knocking  or  hammering.  Did  you  invent  something 
about  that  too?" 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Archie.  "But  I  don't  really  know 
what  the  knocking  was.  As  I  was  going  off  into 
trance,  I  heard  loud  knocking  of  some  sort,  but  I 
didn't  let  it  disturb  the  oncoming  of  the  trance.  It 
deepened,  and  then  Martin  came  and  I  talked  with 
him  and  saw  him." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  281 

"Oh  Archie,  how  do  you  know  it  was  he?"  she 
cried,  wildly  enough,  hardly  knowing  what  she 
meant,  but  speaking  from  the  dictate  of  some  night- 
mare that  screamed  and  struggled  in  her  mind. 

"Why  of  course  it  was  he,"  said  Archie.  "I  recog- 
nised him,  superficially,  that  is  to  say,  from  my 
knowledge  of  my  own  face,  just  as  I  recognised  the 
photograph  in  the  cache  at  Schonberg  from  its  like- 
ness to  me.  But  I  know  it  was  he  in  some  far  more 
essential  and  inward  manner.    It  ivas  Martin." 

"Will  he  come  again?"  asked  the  girl. 

"I  hope  so,  many  times.  Indeed  he  promised  to. 
I  needed  him,  he  got  permission  to  come  to  me  in 
my  need.  Is  he  not  ministering  to  it?  Haven't  you 
seen  the  immense  change  in  me?" 

Undeniably  she  had  seen  that,  and  for  a  moment 
a  little  pang  of  human  disappointment  came  over 
her. 

"I'm  afraid  then  the  knowledge  of  my  friendship 
hasn't  had  much  to  do  with  it,"  she  said. 

"Jessie,  don't  think  I  undervalue  that,"  said 
Archie,  speaking  quite  frankly  and  sincerely.  "I 
thank  you  for  it  tremendously:  I  love  to  know  it  is 
there.    I  may  count  on  it  always,  mayn't  I?" 

They  stood  still  a  moment  under  the  star-swarm- 
ing sky,  sundered  by  the  night  from  all  other  pres- 
ences. 

"I  needn't  assure  you  of  that,"  she  said.  "And, 
Archie,  I  may  be  utterly  wrong  in  what  I  feel  about 
Martin's  communications  to  you.  Who  knows  what 
conditions  exist  for  the  souls  of  those  we  have  loved, 
and  whom  we  neither  of  us  believe  have  died  with 
the  decay  of  the  perishable  body?  But,  my  dear,  do 
be  careful.  If  in  some  miraculous  way  you  have 
been  given  access  which  is  denied  to  almost  all  man- 


282  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

kind,  do  use  it  only  in  truth  and  love  and  reverence." 

"You're  frightened  about  it,"  said  Archie. 

"I  know  I  am.  If  Martin  can  come  to  you,  why 
should  not  other  spirits?  Other  spirits,  intelli- 
gences terrible  and  devilish,  might  deceive  you  into 
thinking  that  they  were  he.  You  remember  at  Si- 
lorno,  he  said  he  couldn't  come  again." 

"I  know,  but  I  wasn't  in  sore  need  then,"  said  he. 

They  had  again  come  opposite  Lord  Tintagel's 
study,  and  even  as  they  passed  Archie  saw  him  with 
his  finger  on  the  bell.  Instantly  he  guessed  that  he 
was  ringing  to  know  why  the  whiskey  had  not  been 
brought.  The  footman  would  come  and  say  that  he 
had  brought  it.  .  .  . 

Archie  felt  an  exhilarated  acuteness  of  brain :  the 
situation  had  only  to  be  put  before  him  for  him  to 
see  the  answer  to  it.  In  his  presence,  remembering 
the  contract  of  the  morning,  his  father  could  not 
ask  for  the  whiskey. 

"Come  in  and  say  good-night  to  my  father,  Jess," 
he  said. 

They  entered  together  and  immediately  after- 
wards the  footman  came  in  from  the  hall-door. 
Lord  Tintagel  looked  at  him,  then  back  at  Archie 
who  was  watching. 

"It's  nothing,  James,"  he  said.  "I  rang  for  some- 
thing, but  it  doesn't  matter." 

The  man  left  the  room  and  immediately  after- 
wards Jessie  said  good-night  and  went  also,  Archie 
turned  to  his  father,  with  a  broad  kindly  smile. 

"Father,  I  believe  I'm  a  great  thought-reader," 
he  said.  "I  believe  I  can  tell  you  what  you  rang 
for." 

His  father's  grim  face  relaxed. 

"You  young  devil,"  he  said. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  283 

Archie  laughed. 

"I've  guessed  right  then,"  he  said.  ''You  surely 
don't  want  to  drink  success  to  our  contract  again." 

"But  I  don't  know  why  James  didn't  bring  the 
whiskey  as  usual,"  said  he.  "I — I  forgot  to  tell  him 
not  to." 

"But  I  didn't,"  said  Archie. 

"I  see.  Well,  a  bargain's  a  bargain,  only  there 
doesn't  seem  to  be  any  particular  reason  for  not 
going  to  bed." 

Archie  yawned  rather  elaborately,  and  went  to  the 
table  where,  earlier  in  the  evening,  he  had  put  down 
his  glass  half  filled  with  soda.  He  drank  it,  sniflBng 
to  see  if  there  was  any  taint  of  spirit  about  it.  But 
he  had  rinsed  it  thoroughly. 

"I  came  in  during  my  stroll  with  Jessie  and  took 
some  soda,"  he  said.  "Not  a  bad  drink,  but  I  think 
it  makes  one  sleepy.    I  shall  go  to  bed  too." 

Jessie  left  early  next  morning,  expecting  to  be 
gone  before  anybody  else  made  an  appearance.  But 
just  as  she  got  into  the  motor,  Archie,  rosy  and  suf- 
fused with  sleep  like  a  child  that  has  lain  still  and 
grown  all  night,  came  flying  downstairs  in  dressing 
gown  and  pyjamas. 

"Had  to  come  down  and  say  goodbye,  Jessie,"  he 
said.  "Do  come  back:  come  down  for  next  Sun- 
day, and  we'll  go  up  together  for  Helena's  wedding. 
Promise!" 

Jessie  looked  at  that  "morning  face"  which  glowed 
with  the  exuberance  of  boyish  health  and  happi- 
ness. She  herself  had  slept  very  badly,  dozing  for 
a  little  and  then  being  awakened  by  the  sound  of 
talking  next  door,  and  of  peremptory  resounding 
tappings.  And  here  was  Archie  radiant  and  fresh 
and  revitalised,  and  her  love  glowed  at  the  thought 


284  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

that  he  wanted  her,  even  though  it  was  but  friend- 
ship that  he  sought  and  friendship  that  he  had  to 
offer, 

"Yes,  Archie,  I  should  love  to  come,"  she  said. 

'That's  ripping.  I  say,  shall  I  drive  with  you  to 
the  station  just  as  I  am?  Why  shouldn't  I?  Pyjamas 
and  dressing-gown  are  perfectly  decent,  if  William 
will  fetch  me  my  slippers  which  I  seem  to  have  for- 
gotten, unless  he  lends  me  his  boots." 

"Your  bath's  ready,  my  lord,"  said  William  with  a 
broad  grin. 

"Well,  perhaps  I'll  have  it  then.  Goodbye,  Jess. 
Come  early  on  Saturday." 


CHAPTER  XI 

Archie  was  lying  on  the  turf  in  front  of  the  en- 
closed bathing-place  where  the  stream  debouched 
into  the  lake.  There  was  a  good  stretch  of  deep 
water  free  from  weeds  and  for  the  last  half  hour  he 
had  been  swimming  and  diving  in  it.  Now  with 
hair  drying  back  into  its  crisp  curls  under  the  hot 
sun,  he  lay  on  the  short  warm  turf  with  his  chin 
supported  on  his  hands  in  an  ecstasy  of  animal  con- 
tent. At  this  edge  of  the  water  the  bank  was  made 
firm  and  solid  with  wooden  campshuting  that  went 
down  into  deep  water,  but  across  the  estuary  of  the 
stream  broadening  out  into  the  lake  the  shallow 
margin  was  fringed  with  bulrushes  and  loosestrife. 
A  strip  of  low-lying  meadow-land  behind  was  pink 
with  campion  and  ragged-robin  and  starred  with 
meadow-sweet,  the  scent  of  which  mingled  with  the 
undefinable  cool  smell  of  running  water.  A  bed  of 
gravel  made  the  bottom  of  the  stream,  and  through 
the  sun-lit  water  the  pebbles  gleamed  like  topazes 
through  some  liquid  veil. 

Never  before  had  Archie  been  so  permeated  with 
the  sense  of  the  amazing  loveliness  of  the  world, 
and  of  the  ineffable  joy  of  living  and  of  being  part 
of  it.  He  had  wrestled  with  the  swiftness  of  the 
stream  as  it  narrowed,  had  clung  to  rocks  and  tree- 
roots  below  the  surface  letting  the  current  comb 
over  and  around  and  almost  through  him,  then 
letting  go  of  his  anchorage  had  been  floated  down 

285 


286  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

into  the  lake  again  with  arms  and  legs  outspread, 
and  now  lying  close-pressed  to  the  turf  with  wet 
chest  and  dripping  shoulders  he  seemed  to  be  part 
of  the  triumph  of  the  summer,  and  of  the  immortal 
youth  of  the  world.  Surely  there  was  no  further 
heaven  than  this  possible,  namely  to  be  young  and 
to  desire  and  have  desire  gratified,  and  whet  the 
appetite  for  more.  There  was  no  clearer  duty  in 
the  world  than  to  be  bathed  in  the  bliss  of  life,  to 
suck  out  the  last  drop  of  sweetness  from  the  world 
which  had  been  created  for  the  joy  of  men  and  the 
glory  of  God.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  evil: 
evil  was  but  the  label  attached  by  the  sour-minded 
to  the  impulses  and  acts  for  which  they  had  not 
sufficient  vitality.  .  .  .  And  it  was  Martin  who 
had  taught  him  all  this. 

Archie  had  come  back  home  this  morning  after  a 
day  and  a  couple  of  nights  in  town.  He  had  bought 
Helena  her  wedding  present,  he  had  taken  his  com- 
pleted manuscript  to  his  publishers,  he  had  dined 
and  danced  and  supped  and  filled  the  hours  of  day 
and  night  with  the  extravagant  excesses  in  which 
up  till  now  he  had  never  indulged.  Some  innate 
fastidiousness  or  morality  had  led  him  to  look  on 
the  lesser  pleasures  of  youth  with  disdain  or  dis- 
gust; now  he  smiled  indulgently  at  himself  for  his 
barren  priggishness.  How  utterly  wrong  he  had 
been  to  think  that  such  things  stained  or  soiled  a 
boy;  they  but  caused  him  to  realise  himself  and 
intensified  existence  for  him.  They  were  the  ex- 
ercise of  the  faculties  and  possibilities  with  which 
God  had  endowed  him,  and  which  were  not  meant 
to  rust  in  disuse.  It  was  right  for  him  "richly  to 
enjoy,"  as  Martin  had  said:  it  was  a  crime  against 
love  and  life  to  starve  on  a  meatless  diet.  .  .  . 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  287 

Above  all  he  had  seen  Helena  again,  had  confessed 
and  recanted  the  bitterness  he  had  felt  towards 
her,  and  she  had  forgiven  him,  and  welcomed  him 
back  "with  blessings  on  the  falling  out,  that  all  the 
more  endears,"  as  the  prim  little  poem  said.  .  .  . 
Archie  laughed  quietly  to  himself  and  said  aloud : 

"When  we  fall  out  with  those  we  love 
And  kiss  again  with  tears." 

"But  there  weren't  many  tears,"  he  added. 

He  understood  Helena  now.  She  wanted,  so  sen- 
sibly, to  make  herself  quite  comfortable  for  this 
journey  through  life.  If  Marquises  and  millions 
wanted  her  to  go  shares  with  them,  naturally  she 
consented.  But  to  do  that  was  not  the  least  the 
same  as  taking  vows  and  going  into  a  nunnery.  It 
was  the  nunnery  that  she  was  coming  out  of.  Of 
course  just  for  the  present,  Archie  understood,  he 
would  not  see  her,  for  she  and  the  Bradshaw  were 
going  a  yachting  tour  in  the  Norwegian  fjords.  But 
they  would  be  back  again  before  the  end  of  Septem- 
ber. So  much  and  no  more  had  her  voice  told  him, 
but  her  eyes  said  much  more  intimate  things, 
though  naturally  she  did  not  express  them,  and 
when  he  asked  if  he  might  kiss  her  (that  cousinly 
kiss  which  she  had  wanted  at  Silorno)  her  lips 
agreed  with  what  her  eyes  said.  She  had  never 
been  so  adorably  pretty,  and  she  had  never  been  so 
demurely  clever.  She  had  said  nothing  which  a  girl 
who  was  to  become  another  man's  wife  in  a  few  days 
should  not  say,  and  yet  Archie  felt  that  he  under- 
stood perfectly  all  the  things  she  did  not  say.  Most 
brilliant  perhaps  of  all  was  her  warning.  "I  shall 
tell  the  Bradshaw  that  I  allowed  you  to  kiss  me," 


288  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

she  cried.  "But  I'm  not  frightened:  he  is  such  a 
dear." 

Gone  then  were  all  Archie's  troubles  and  bitter- 
nesses on  this  point.  He  had  love  to  cling  to,  and 
he  scarcely  felt  jealous  of  the  Bradshaw.  For  if 
things  had  been  the  other  way  about  and  Helena 
had  been  engaged  to  him,  would  she  have  allowed 
the  Bradshaw  to  kiss  her?  He  knew  very  well  that 
she  would  not. 

Archie  turned  over  onto  his  back,  and  lay  with 
arms  and  legs  spread  out  to  the  sun,  warming  him- 
self as  with  the  fires  of  memory  of  that  expedition 
to  London.  But  he  had  not  in  the  least  wished  to 
postpone  his  return,  since  the  joy  of  life  lay  so 
largely  in  its  contrasts,  and  after  thirty-six  hours 
of  that  fiery  furnace  there  had  come  a  temporary 
satiety,  and  he  wanted  to  lie  and  sleep  like  a  gorged 
tiger.  Soon  he  would  awake  and  be  hungry  again, 
but  it  was  part  of  the  joy  of  life  to  be  satisfied  and 
doze,  and  stretch  out  tranquil  limbs.  And  lying 
there  his  ribs  began  to  twitch  again  into  laughter 
as  he  thought  of  the  contract  he  had  made  with  his 
father  last  Sunday.  Archie  had  entered  into  it,  with 
the  view  of  encouraging  and  helping  his  father  to  rid 
himself  of  the  chain  that  was  rivetted  so  closely 
round  him,  and  he  was  delighted  to  do  it,  if  his 
father  derived  support  for  his  abstinence  in  the 
thought  that  he  was  helping  Archie.  But  Archie 
need  not  abstain,  so  long  as  his  father  thought  he 
was  doing  so,  and  only  just  now  he  had  filled  with 
water  and  sunk  in  the  weeds  several  empty  bottles 
that  he  had  brought  out  in  his  towels  from  his  bed- 
room. He  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  was  in  no 
danger  of  becoming  a  slave  to  the  habit:  it  had 
served  him  as  medicine  to  mitigate  his  misery  with 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  28^ 

regard  to  Helena,  and,  now  that  that  was  quite  re- 
moved, it  helped  him  to  get  into  communication 
with  Martin.  Of  that  he  felt  convinced:  once  or 
twice  he  had  tried  to  do  so  without  drinking,  and 
had  failed:  but  alcohol  seemed  to  drug  the  surface- 
consciousness  and  clear  the  way  of  access,  and  it  was 
for  that  he  used  it  now.  It  was  more  that  it  cleared 
the  access  than  that  it  drugged  him,  for  he  found 
that  it  produced  not  the  least  effect  in  the  way  of 
making  his  head  hazy  or  his  movements  wavering: 
it  only  seemed  to  sweep  clean  those  mysterious  chan- 
nels through  which  communication  came.  The 
power  of  communicating  he  could  not  possibly  give 
up:  all  happiness  and  joy  of  life  sprang  from  it, 
therefore  he  could  not  possibly  give  up  that  which 
facilitated  it.  But  he  performed  the  purpose  of  the 
contract  by  keeping  his  indulgences  secret  from  his 
father,  and  once  again  Archie's  ribs  with  their 
smoothly  swelling  muscles  under  his  brown  skin 
throbbed  with  amusement  as  he  pictured  his  father's 
heroic  struggle  with  himself.  Occasionally  Archie 
had  doubts  whether  that  struggle  was  quite  consis- 
tently successful,  for  once  or  twice  Lord  Tintagel 
had  shewn  signs  of  evening  content  and  serenity 
followed  by  morning  shakiness  which  indicated  that 
he  had  made  some  temporary  armistice.  Archie 
thought  that  perhaps  he  would  lay  some  trap  for 
his  father  or  make  some  quiet  detective  investiga- 
tions to  satisfy  himself  on  this  point.  But  beyond 
doubt  his  father  was  putting  up  quite  a  good  fight 
on  behalf  of  a  non-existent  cause.  His  will  was  to 
abstain,  and  if  occasionally  he  failed,  it  was  unchris- 
tian to  judge  failure  hardly.  Besides  Archie  only 
conjectured  that  sometimes  his  father's  resolution 


290  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

was  unequal  to  the  strain  imposed  on  it:  he  did  not 
know. 

All  this  week  Archie's  sense  of  comradeship  and 
brotherliness  with  Martin  had  marvellously  in- 
creased. There  was  nothing  priggish  or  puritanical 
about  Martin,  nor  anything  namby-pamby  that 
suggested  wings  and  haloes  and  hymins.  He  was  in- 
tensely human  and  sympathised  completely  with 
the  fact  of  Archie's  being  a  glorious  young  animal, 
bursting  with  exuberant  health.  That  seemed  quite 
clear,  for  when  this  morning  sometime  about  four 
o'clock  Archie  had  gently  let  himself  into  the  house 
in  Grosvenor  Square  a  little  ashamed  and  weary, 
and  went  up  to  his  bedroom,  he  became  instantly 
aware  that  Martin  was  waiting  for  him.  There  was 
no  need  for  him  to  light  his  electric  lamps,  for  dawn 
was  already  breaking,  and  drawing  his  curtains 
apart,  he  threw  off  his  clothes,  so  as  to  let  the  de- 
licious chill  of  morning  refresh  his  skin,  and  sat 
down  for  a  moment  in  front  of  his  dressing-table 
and  looked  fixedly  at  a  bright  point  of  light  on  the 
bevel  of  his  looking  glass.  Almost  immediately  the 
waves  of  light  and  shadow  began  to  pass  before  his 
eyes,  and  the  room  was  full  of  vivid  peremptory  tap- 
pings. Then  he  was  aware  that  there  appeared  in 
the  reflected  image  of  himself  a  strange  luminous 
focus  over  his  left  breast  and  a  little  wisp  of  mist, 
like  a  puff  of  escaping  steam,  began  to  come  from  it. 
This  grew  and  collected  in  wavering  masses  of  weav- 
ing lines,  formless  at  first,  but  then  arranging  them- 
selves into  definite  shapes,  and  he  saw  with  a  thrill 
of  excitement  and  wonder  that  out  of  them  there 
was  being  built  up  the  image  of  Martin,  which  had 
issued  out  of  himself.     Soon  it  was  complete  and 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  291 

Archie  in  the  glass  beheld  Martin's  face  leaning 
lovingly  over  his  shoulder,  and  Martin's  arm,  bare 
like  his  own,  and  warm  and  solid  to  the  touch,  was 
throvvn  round  his  neck. 

"Archie,  I've  been  with  you  all  night,"  he  said. 
"I  love  to  see  you  and  feel  you  realise  yourself. 
Throw  yourself  into  life:  live  to  the  uttermost  and 
have  no  thought  for  the  morrow.  There  is  nothing 
in  the  world  but  love  and  joy.  Cling  to  them,  press 
close  to  them,  lose  yourself  in  them.  .  ,  ." 

Martin's  smile  was  compassionate  no  longer:  it 
was  a  sunbeam  of  radiant  happiness,  and  that  hap- 
piness, so  it  seemed  to  Archie,  had  its  source  in  sym- 
pathy with  and  love  for  him. 

"Don't  ever  think  you  are  yielding  to  base  im- 
pulses," he  went  on,  "provided  only  you  are  happy. 
Happiness  is  the  seal  and  witness  of  what  is  right 
for  you:  it  is  the  mark  of  God's  approval.  Evil  is 
always  painful  and  repugnant,  that  is  the  seal  and 
witness  of  it.  The  fruit  of  the  spirit  is  Love,  joy, 
peace,  and  aren't  you  more  at  peace,  more  full  of 
joy  now  that  you  have  resolved  to  put  hate  out  of 
your  heart?  Isn't  it  sweeter  to  kiss  Helena  than  to 
curse  her?" 

Suddenly,  like  the  stroke  of  a  black  wing,  there 
passed  through  Archie  an  impulse  of  sheer  abhor- 
rence. All  that  Martin  said  sounded  divinely  com- 
forting and  uplifting,  but  did  there  not  lurk  in  it 
the  whole  gospel  of  Satanism?  And  as  that  thought 
crossed  his  mind,  he  saw  an  expression  of  the  ten- 
derest  reproach  dim  for  a  moment  the  brightness  of 
his  brother's  eyes,  and  the  mouth  drooped. 

"But  you  are  tired  now,"   said  he,   "and  your 


292  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

trust  in  me  is  a  little  weakened.  Sleep  well:  it  is 
dawn  already." 

The  apparition  faded,  or  rather  it  appeared  to  be 
withdrawn  again  into  himself.  As  he  came  to  him- 
self, Archie  was  conscious  only  of  an  overpowering 
but  delicious  fatigue,  the  fatigue  of  utter  satisfac- 
tion. He  had  had  a  glorious  thirty-six  hours,  and 
as  Martin  said  he  was  tired.    And  Martin  approved. 

He  slept  the  clear  recuperative  sleep  of  youth  for 
four  or  five  hours,  and  awoke  hungry  and  eager  and 
clear-eyed.  He  left  town  immediately  after  break- 
fast, motored  himself  down  home  with  William 
holding  on  to  the  side  of  the  car  as  he  slewed  round 
corners,  and  came  straight  out  to  his  beloved  bath- 
ing-place.   It  was  bliss  to  be  alive. 

He  had  not  seen  Jessie  during  his  short  raid  on 
London,  for  really  there  had  not  been  a  moment  to 
spare:  besides,  Jessie  was  coming  down  next  day  for 
the  week-end.  But  she  knew  he  had  been  in  town, 
for  Helena  said  she  had  seen  him,  and  with  her 
usual  acuteness  had  told  her  sister  that  Archie  was 
deliciously  his  old  self  again,  and  that  they  were 
the  greatest  friends.  That,  to  Jessie's  very  sensible 
judgment  and  to  the  intuition  her  love  gave  her,  was 
the  most  inexplicable  of  developments.  Only  a 
week  ago  there  was  no  reproach  bitter  enough  for 
Archie's  opinion  on  her  conduct  to  him,  no  angry 
taunt  of  misery  sufl&cient  for  her  vilification.  And 
then  in  a  moment  the  whole  of  that  bitterness  had 
been  dried  up,  the  Marah  had  been  sweetened. 
More  than  that,  the  joy  of  life  generally  had  re- 
turned in  full  flood  to  him,  and  the  cause  of  all  this 
was,  in  his  account,  the  fact  that  the  spirit  of  Martin 
had  shewn  him  the  true  light.     That  Archie  pos- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  293 

sessed  that  mysterious  and,  in  her  view,  dangerous 
gift  of  mediumistic  perception  she  did  not  doubt, 
for  there  was  no  questioning  those  weird  manifesta- 
tions of  occult  power  which  she  knew  had  occurred 
in  his  childhood,  and  she  felt  now  that  she  ought 
only  to  stand  in  an  awed  wonder  and  thankfulness 
that  this  supernormal  perception  of  his  had,  in  a 
moment,  worked  in  him  what  could  be  called  no 
less  than  a  miracle.  But  though  she  ought  to  feel 
that,  she  knew  that  she  felt  nothing  of  the  kind, 
and  as  she  travelled  down  next  day  to  Lacebury,  she 
set  herself  to  analyse  the  causes  of  her  mistrust. 

They  were  simple  enough.  First  of  all  there  was 
her  rooted  antipathy  to  the  whole  notion  of  spirit- 
communication.  Instinctively  it  shocked  her  and 
seemed  opposed  to  all  religious  faith.  Beyond  that 
there  were  but  a  couple  of  the  most  insignificant 
matters  that  appeared  to  her  possibly  connected 
with  her  mistrust,  the  one  that  Archie  had  made  a 
false  swift  invention  to  account  for  the  noises  she 
had  heard  coming  from  his  room,  the  other  that  he 
had  proposed  to  get  William  to  spy  on  his  father 
with  a  view  to  ascertaining  whether  he  was  keeping 
his  part  of  their  bargain.  She  knew  they  were 
both  tiny  incidents,  but  the  spirit  that  prompted 
them  was  in  both  cases  utterly  unlike  Archie.  She 
could  not  imagine  Archie  making  such  an  inven- 
tion or  such  a  suggestion:  from  what  she  knew  of 
him,  it  was  outside  him  to  do  so.  And  if  it  was  the 
influence — to  call  it  no  more  than  that — of  Martin 
which  prompted  those  things,  if  it  was  the  same 
direction  as  that  which  had  taken  away  all  his  bit- 
terness towards  Helena,  what  sort  of  influence  was 
that?  Finally  could  it  be  right  that  the  boy  whom 
Helena  had  so  cruelly  led  on  only  to  disappoint, 


294  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

should  on  the  eve  of  her  marriage  suddenly  become 
close  friends  with  her  again?  There  certainly  was 
seen  the  precept  of  that  which  had  spoken  with  him, 
and  had  promised  to  communicate  again,  and  she 
could  not  but  think  that  a  dangerous  if  not  a  dia- 
bolical counsel.  But  she  tried  to  reserve  her  judg- 
ments. In  a  few  minutes  now  she  would  see  Archie 
again,  and  could  note  what  change  for  good  or  ill 
this  week  had  brought.  Very  likely  she  had  been 
disquieting  herself  in  vain,  making  wounds  out  of 
pin  pricks  and  mountains  out  of  mole  hills. 

Archie  had  come  to  meet  her,  and  as  the  train 
slowed  down  into  the  station  she  saw  him  out  of 
the  carriage  window.  But  he  did  not  see  her,  for 
his  eyes  were  intent  on  a  very  horrible  sight.  There 
were  two  tipsy  women  violently  quarrelling,  and 
just  as  the  train  got  in  they  flew  at  each  other, 
scratching  and  striking.  It  lasted  not  more  than  a 
few  seconds,  for  a  couple  of  porters  ran  in  and  sep- 
arated them,  but  Jessie  had  seen  Archie's  face 
alight  with  glee  and  amusement.  As  they  were 
separated,  he  frowned  and  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  seemed  to  remonstrate  with  the  man  who  had 
stopped  their  fighting.  At  that  instant  he  saw  her 
get  out  of  her  compartment,  and  ran  to  meet  her, 
his  face  quite  changed.  But  the  moment  before 
it  had  not  been  Archie's  face  at  all:  it  had  been  the 
face  of  some  beautiful  and  devilish  creature,  alert 
with  evil  excitement. 

"Hullo,  Jessie,  there  you  are,"  he  said.  "It's 
ripping  to  see  you.  Look  at  those  two  viragos  there: 
they  flew  at  each  other  like  wild  beasts.  It  was  a 
horrible  sight." 

He  turned  a  sideways  eye  on  her,  cunning  and 
watchful,  which  utterly  belied  the  frankness  of  his 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  295 

speech,  and  her  heart  sank,  and  a  vague  nameless 
terror  seized  her,  as  once  again  she  found  herself 
thinking  that  this  wasn't  Archie,  who  so  gaily  took 
her  bag  for  her,  and  ever  and  again  looked  back  to 
where  a  small  crowd  had  collected  round  the  two 
women.  They  had  a  few  minutes  to  wait,  while  her 
luggage  was  brought  out,  and  once  more  he  saunt- 
ered back  into  the  station,  leaving  her  in  the  car. 
From  outside  she  could  hear  hoarse  screams,  and 
long  after  her  trunk  had  been  put  into  the  car  she 
watched  the  door  for  Archie's  exit.  First  one  and 
then  the  other  of  the  women  were  brought  out  to 
go  to  the  police-station,  and  at  last  he  emerged. 

"Sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  Jessie,"  he  said.  "But 
my  mother  wanted  some  magazine  from  the  book- 
stall. But  now,  if  you  aren't  nervous,  we'll  make  up 
for  lost  time." 

The  road  lay  straight  and  empty  before  them, 
opening  out  like  torn  linen  as  they  raced  along  it. 
Some  way  ahead  there  were  a  couple  of  cottages  by 
the  road  side,  and  as  they  came  near  them,  there 
wandered  out  into  the  road  an  old  and  lame  collie. 
Instantly  Archie's  face  changed  into  a  mask  of  im- 
patient malignancy. 

"Archie,  take  care,"  said  Jessie,  "there's  a  dog 
on  the  road." 

"Well,  that's  the  dog's  look-out,"  said  he.  "What 
right  has  a  mangy  brute  like  that  to  stop  us?" 

He  made  no  attempt  whatever  to  slow  down,  but 
just  at  the  last  moment  he  caused  the  car  to  swerve 
violently,  and  they  missed  the  dog  by  a  hair's 
breadth.  And  he  turned  on  her  a  face  from  which 
all  impatience  and  anger  had  vanished,  and  from  it 
looked  out  Archie's  soul  in  agonised  struggle. 


296  ACROSS  THE  STREAJVi 

"I  couldn't,  I  couldn't!"  he  said.  "I  didn't  touch 
it,  Jessie:  it's  all  right." 

"I  thought  you  must  run  over  it,"  said  she.  *'Why 
didn't  you  slow  down,  Archie?" 

That  glimpse  of  the  agonised  soul  utterly  van- 
ished again. 

"People  have  got  no  business  to  keep  a  decrepit 
old  beast  like  that,"  he  said.  "I  expect  the  kindest 
thing  I  could  do  would  be  to  turn  round  and  put  it 
out  of  its  misery.  Never  mind,  I'll  do  it  some  other 
day."  ^ 

Jessie  clung  to  her  glimpse  of  the  other  Archie. 

"No,  you  won't,"  she  said.  "You'll  risk  your  life 
and  mine  too,  not  to  hurt  it." 

He  laughed. 

"One  can't  tell  what  one  will  do,"  he  said.  "I 
hated  and  loathed  that  dog,  but  I  couldn't  run  over 
it,  when  it  came  to  it.  Hope  I  didn't  give  you  an 
awful  shaking,  Jessie." 

After  lunch  Archie  proposed  a  campaign  against 
a  certain  great  pike  which  he  had  seen,  and  while 
he  went  to  his  room  to  change  his  clothes  Jessie  paid 
a  visit  to  Blessington.  The  old  lady  was  delighted 
to  see  her,  and  dusted  a  perfectly  speckless  chair  for 
her. 

"And  it's  jolly  for  you,  isn't  it,  Blessington,  having 
Archie  here  so  long,"  said  Jessie. 

Blessington  made  no  answer  for  a  moment. 

"I  make  no  complaints,"  she  said,  "and  I  daresay 
Master  Archie  is  very  busy." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  girl. 

Blessington's  wrinkled  old  face  began  to  work, 
and  she  looked  piteously  at  Jessie. 

"It's  a  week  since  Master  Archie  set  foot  in  my 
room,"  she  said.    "Why  does  he  never  come  to  see 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  297 

me  now,  Miss  Jessie?  And  when  I  meet  him  about 
the  house,  he's  never  got  a  word  to  give  me.  Me, 
who  has  looked  after  him  and  loved  him  since  he 
was  born." 

At  this  moment  Archie's  step  was  heard  outside, 
and  he  came  in. 

"Oh,  Blessington,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  go  med- 
dling with  my  things,"  he  said  roughly.  "William 
tells  me  you  took  some  flannels  of  mine  away  to 
mend  or  put  a  button  on.    Where  are  they?" 

Blessington  got  up  without  a  word  and  went  to 
her  cupboard. 

"Here  they  are,  my  lord,"  she  said.  "I  have 
mended  them." 

"Well,  please  don't  carry  my  clothes  away  again. 
Come  on,  Jessie.    I'll  be  ready  in  a  moment." 

Blessington's  hands  came  together  with  a  trem- 
bling movement  as  Archie  twitched  the  flannel  coat 
away  from  her.  But  he  did  not  even  look  at  her, 
and  went  out  of  her  room,  banging  the  door. 

Blessington  sat  down  again,  and  began  to  cry 
quietly.  "There  now,  you  see.  Miss  Jessie,"  she 
said.    "And  that's  my  own  Master  Archie." 

For  a  minute  or  so  Jessie  sat  with  her,  trying 
vainly  to  comfort  her,  and  shocked  beyond  expres- 
sion at  Archie's  brutal  callousness  to  the  loving  old 
nurse.  And  then  the  door  opened  again,  and  Archie 
looked  in.  Once  again  all  his  anger  and  impatience 
had  died  out  of  his  face,  his  real  soul  looked  from 
his  eyes  as  from  a  prison-house  and  his  voice  shook 
as  he  spoke. 

"Go  away,  please,  Jessie,  a  minute,  and  leave  me 
with  Blessington,"  he  said. 

And  then  he  came  across  the  room  to  her,  and 
knelt  down  by  her,  and  took  her  withered  old  hand 


298  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

in  his,  and  stroked  it  and  kissed  it.  So  much  Jessie 
saw  before  she  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

"Blessington,  my  old  darhng,"  said  Archie,  "I 
can't  think  why  I  have  been  so  beastly  to  you.  It 
wasn't  me,  that's  all  I  can  tell  you.  I  always  love 
you.    Can  you  forgive  me?" 

Blessington's  loyal  devotion  rose  triumphant. 

"Eh,  I  know  how  busy  you've  been,  Master 
Archie,"  she  said,  "and  I  know  what  a  thoughtless 
body  I  am  with  your  things.  But  I'd  like  you  to  be 
angry  with  me  fifty  times,  if  you'll  only  come  back 
to  me  at  the  end.  There  pray-a-don't  kiss  my  hand, 
dear.    It  isn't  right  for  you  to  do  that." 

"Where's  your  darling  face  then?"  said  Archie. 
"If  you  don't  give  me  a  kiss  this  minute,  I  shall 
know  you've  been  flirting  with  father's  keeper 
again." 

Blessington  gave  a  little  squeal  of  laughter. 

"Eh,  and  him  dead  this  twenty  years,"  she  said. 
"And  you  know,  my  dear,  that  if  you  cut  my  throat, 
and  asked  me  to  give  you  a  kiss  afterwards,  give  it 
you  I  would,  because  nothing  you  could  do  would 
stop  my  loving  you." 

Blessington's  love,  Helena's  love  .  .  .  which  was 
real?  Two  things  so  utterly  different  could  not  both 
be  love.  And  for  him,  too,  which  love  was  real,  his 
love  for  Blessington  all  ashed  over  save  for  the 
little  spark  that  somehow  lived  below  the  cold  cin- 
ders, or  his  love  for  Helena  that  blazed  and  scintil- 
lated? Suddenly  the  thought  of  that  glowed  with- 
in him,  and  it  seemed  dreadful  to  kiss  this  withered 
cheek.  And  yet  the  dim  old  eyes  had  never  wavered 
in  their  loyalty  and  love  for  his  worthless  corrupted 
self. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAJM  299 

"And  shall  we  have  a  talk  this  evening  again 
before  dinner?"  he  asked. 

"Eh,  that  would  be  nice  if  you're  not  too  busy," 
said  she. 

"All  right  then.  But  I  must  run  along  now :  Jes- 
sie's waiting." 

"That'll  never  do  to  keep  her  waiting,"  said 
Blessington.  "And  if  you're  going  on  the  lake, 
IVIaster  Archie,  pray  be  careful  and  don't  fall  in," 

Lady  Tintagel  with  Jessie  and  Archie  were  going 
up  to  town  on  Monday  to  attend  Helena's  wedding 
the  day  after,  and  all  through  the  hours  of  that 
week-end  there  was  piling  up  ever  higher  and  more 
menacingly  the  storm  that  so  soon  was  to  burst 
upon  Europe  in  tempest  of  shot  and  shell.  Before 
they  left  on  Monday  afternoon  war  was  already  de- 
clared between  Russia  and  Germany,  between  Ger- 
many and  France,  the  territory  of  Belgium  was  vio- 
lated by  the  barbarian  hordes  who  issued  from  the 
Central  Empires,  and  Belgium  had  appealed  to 
England  to  uphold  the  treaty  which  Germany  had 
torn  up  to  light  the  fires  of  war.  But,  as  in  so  many 
English  homes  in  those  days,  the  inevitable  still 
seemed  the  incredible,  and  though  from  time  to  time 
they  discussed  the  situation,  life  went  on  its  normal 
course.  Indeed  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done: 
whether  England  was  going  to  war  or  not,  dinner 
time  came  round  as  usual.  .  .  . 

Of  them  all  it  was  on  Lord  Tintagel  that  the  sus- 
pense and  anxiety  beat  most  strongly,  and  that  be- 
cause the  panic  on  the  Stock  Exchanges  of  Europe 
threatened  him  with  losses  that  might  bring  him 
within  reach  of  ruin.  But  Lady  Tintagel  still  clung 
to  a  baseless  hope,  less  substantial  than  a  mirage 


300  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

in  the  desert,  that  diplomacy  would  still  avert  dis- 
aster, Archie  went  about  the  customary  diversions 
of  life  with  more  than  usual  enjoyment  and  absorp- 
tion, while  for  Jessie  there  loomed  in  the  immediate 
foreground  a  dread  and  a  horror,  which,  though  it 
concerned  not  warring  millions,  but  just  one  indi- 
vidual, engrossed  her  entire  soul. 

It  was  as  if  she  saw  him  whom  she  loved  with  all 
the  strength  of  her  deep  and  loyal  heart  in  danger 
of  drowning,  not  in  material  waters  that  could  but 
kill  the  body  and  set  free  the  soul,  but  in  some  awful 
flooding  evil  which  threatened  to  submerge  and 
swallow  the  very  source  and  spiritual  life  of  him. 
And  all  the  time  he  swam  and  splashed  about  in 
those  waters  below  which  lay  Hell  itself  with  the 
same  joyful  gaiety  as  he  used  to  chum  his  way  out 
to  sea  at  Silorno.  As  by  some  hideous  irony,  the 
love  of  deep  waters  far  from  shore  that  all  his  life 
had  possessed  him,  so  that  his  physical  self  was  at 
the  zenith  of  its  capacity  for  enjoyment  when  the 
profound  gulfs  were  below  him  and  the  land  far 
off,  so  now  evil,  essential  and  primeval  even,  had 
beckoned  his  soul  out  over  unplumbed  depths  that 
seemed  to  him  bright  with  celestial  sunshine.  Not 
yet  was  he  doomed  to  sink  there,  though  she  guessed, 
as  in  a  nightmare,  in  what  deadly  peril  he  stood,  for 
now  and  again  some  inkling  of  that  which  menaced 
him  reached  his  true  self,  and  he  turned  back  with 
shuddering  and  contrition  from  some  evil  prompt- 
ing. All  the  time  this  betrayed  itself  to  Jessie  in 
things  that  might  have  so  reasonably  been  called 
mere  trifles.  An  impatient,  impetuous  boy,  as 
Archie  undoubtedly  was,  might  so  naturally  have 
lost  his  temper  with  a  decrepit  old  dog  who  strayed 
onto  the  path  of  his  flying  car,  and  made  him  say 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  301 

that  it  would  be  the  kindest  thing  to  run  over  it. 
That  same  boy  might  so  naturally  have  felt  an  un- 
edifying  curiosity  in  two  drunken  women  fighting 
together,  or  have  reasonably  been  annoyed  when, 
in  a  hurry  to  change  his  clothes,  he  found  that  his 
old  nurse  had  taken  them  away.  Indeed  it  was  the 
strength  of  his  own  reaction  against  such  thoughtless 
impulses  that  shewed,  as  much  as  his  own  feeling 
about  them,  how  alien  he  knew  them  to  be  to  his 
real  self.  But  her  own  feeling  about  them  was  the 
final  test,  for  she  knew  it  was  based  on  the  infallible 
intuition  of  her  love  for  him.  It  was  impossible 
that  that  should  be  mistaken,  and  it  told  her  that 
it  was  not  Archie  at  all  who  had  committed  those 
cruelties  which  might  be  trifling  in  themselves,  but 
like  wisps  of  cloud  in  the  sky  shewed  which  way  the 
great  winds  were  blowing.  And  on  the  top  of  these 
was  something  which  Jessie  could  not  conceive  of 
as  being  a  trifle,  namely  Archie's  complete  reconcil- 
iation with  her  sister.  She  could  not  believe  that 
it  was  a  noble  impulse  which  prompted  that  and 
extinguished  his  bitter  resentment  against  her  as 
easily  as  a  candle  is  blown  out.  He  was  right  to  be 
bitter  against  her,  and  the  love,  for  it  was  no  less 
than  that,  with  which  he  seemed  inspired  again, 
was  not  love  at  all.  But  he  believed  that  this  desire 
was  love,  and  according  to  his  account  it  was  the 
spirit  of  Martin  which  had  taught  him  that  and 
opened  his  blinded  eyes.  It  was  Martin,  then,  who 
possessed  him.  And  that,  to  Jessie,  was  the  most 
incredible  of  all.  It  was  not,  and  it  could  not  be 
Martin. 

She  sat  by  her  open  window  that  Saturday  night, 
wishing  that  she  could  think  that  some  madness 
had  fallen  upon  her,  which  caused  her  to  conceive 


302  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

such  inconceivable  things.  Archie's  laugh  still 
sounded  in  her  ears,  gay  and  boyish,  as  she  had 
heard  it  but  two  minutes  before  she  came  up  to 
bed.  And  she  shuddered  at  the  cause  of  it.  Once 
again  she  and  Archie  had  strolled  out  after  dinner, 
and  on  passing  the  windows  of  his  father's  study, 
their  steps  noiseless  on  the  grass,  Archie  had  laid  his 
hand  on  her  arm  with  a  gesture  to  command  silence, 
and  had  tiptoed  with  her  across  the  gravel  to  his 
father's  windows.  Lord  Tintagel  was  inside,  and 
even  as  they  looked,  he  took  a  bottle  out  of  which 
he  had  been  pouring  something  and  locked  it  up  in 
a  cupboard. 

Archie  turned  a  face  beaming  with  merriment  on 
her. 

"Come  in,"  he  said,  "to  say  good-night.  Leave 
it  all  to  me.    It  will  be  huge  fun." 

He  waited  a  moment,  and  then  began  talking 
loudly  to  her  on  some  indifferent  subject  for  a  few 
seconds.    Then  he  said: 

"Come  and  say  good-night  to  my  father,  Jessie," 
and  they  entered  together. 

Lord  Tintagel  was  seated  in  his  chair  by  this  time : 
there  was  just  one  empty  glass  on  the  tray  with  a 
syphon,  and  no  sign  of  a  second  one.  Archie  began 
walking  up  and  down  the  room,  his  eyes  looking 
swiftly  and  stealthily  in  every  direction. 

"Jessie  and  I  have  just  come  in  to  say  good- 
night," he  said,  "We're  all  going  up  to  town  to- 
morrow.    Won't  you  really  come,  father?" 

"I've  already  said  I  won't,"  said  Lord  Tintagel 
sharply. 

Archie  suddenly  saw  what  he  had  been  looking 
for. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  393 

"Hullo,  here's  a  funny  thing,"  he  said.  "Here's  a 
glass  on  the  floor." 

He  picked  it  up,  smelled  it,  and  burst  into  a  peal 
of  laughter. 

"Father,  it's  too  bad  of  you!"  he  said.  "There 
have  I  been  keeping  our  bargain,  while  you " 

He  broke  off,  laughing  again. 

"No,  I'll  confess,"  he  said,  "because  I'm  so  pleased 
at  having  found  you  out.  I've  been  having  some 
quiet  drinks  up  in  my  bedroom  while  you've  been 
cloing  the  same  down  here.  What  did  you  do  with 
your  bottles?  I  put  mine  in  the  lake.  I  say,  that 
is  funny,  isn't  it?  But  it's  rather  unsociable.  Let's 
follow  Germany's  example,  and  call  our  treaty  waste 
paper." 

And  Archie  had  laughed  over  that  miserable,  sor- 
did exposure,  just  as  light-heartedly  as  he  had 
laughed  over  the  jolly  innocent  humours  at  Silomo, 
and  sick  at  heart  she  had  left  the  two  together  with 
the  bottle  which  there  was  no  need  to  conceal  any 
more. 

She  sat  long  at  her  window  in  a  miserable  state 
of  horror  and  fear  and  agitation,  now  trying  to 
persuade  herself  that  she  was  taking  these  things 
too  heavily.  Helena  had  always  told  her  she  took 
things  heavily — now  letting  her  fears  issue  in  ter- 
rible cohort  and  looking  them  in  the  face.  It  was 
her  powerlessness  to  help  that  most  tortured  her, 
her  fate  of  having  to  stand  and  watch  while  Archie 
pushed  out  ever  further  with  delight  and  joy  into 
the  perilous  seas.  But  now  there  was  to  her  a 
reality  about  it  all  which  she  had  never  wholly  felt 
before.  She  had  tried  to  make  allowance  for  her 
imagination :  to-night  in  the  darkness  and  the  quiet 
she  felt  herself  face  to  face  with  it,  and  her  love 


304  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

starved  to  help  him.  Spiritual  and  ghostly  enemies 
were  about,  and  next  moment  she  had  slid  onto  her 
knees.  No  words  came:  she  tried  just  to  open  her 
heart.  But  the  evil  seemed  to  swarm  round  her, 
and  but  the  faintest  ray  shone  down  on  her.  But 
that  was  something,  and  she  rose  again  with  that 
little  spark  shining  within  her.  In  any  case  she 
must  make  every  effort  to  help,  instead  of  succumb- 
ing feebly  to  her  sense  of  powerlessness. 

At  that  moment  she  heard  light,  swift  footsteps 
on  the  stairs,  and  instantly  her  mind  was  made  up, 
and  she  came  out  into  the  gallery  just  as  Archie  was 
opposite  her  door.  His  face  was  eager  and  alert: 
there  was  no  trace  of  intoxication  there. 

"Hullo,  Jessie,"  he  said  smiling.  "Not  gone  to 
bed  yet?" 

She  had  to  be  wise:  mere  helpless  prayer  would 
avail  nothing,  if  she  did  not  exert  herself  and  make 
use  of  her  wits  and  her  love. 

"No:  I  didn't  feel  sleepy,"  she  said.  "You  don't 
look  sleepy  either.    Are  you  going  to  bed?" 

"No,  not  yet,"  said  Archie. 

Jessie  came  a  step  closer  to  him. 

"Oh,  Archie,  are  you  going  to  talk  to  Martin?" 
she  asked.  "Mayn't  I  come?  I  should  so  love  to, 
for  I  know  all  that  Martin  means  to  you.  You 
know  I  did  hear  him  talking  to  you  before.  It 
would  be  lovely  if  I  could  hear  you  talking  together, 
so  that  I  knew  what  he  said." 

Archie  looked  at  her. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  why  not,"  he  said.  "But  you 
must  promise  not  to  interrupt.  Perhaps  you'll 
neither  hear  nor  see  anything.  But  I  don't  see  why 
you  shouldn't  try.  It's  just  a  seance.  Come  along, 
Jessie." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  305 

He  led  the  way  into  his  bedroom,  and  shut  the 
door. 

"I  shall  really  rather  like  you  to  be  here,"  he 
said.  "I'm  glad  you  suggested  it.  For  now  and  then 
I  go  into  very  deep  trance,  and  then  I  can't  remem- 
ber what  exactly  has  happened.  I  only  know  that 
there  has  been  round  me  an  atmosphere — to  call  it 
that — in  which  I  glow  and  expand.  Sometimes  I 
rather  think  I  struggle  and  groan:  you  mustn't  mind 
that.  It's  only  the  protest  of  my  material  earthly 
self.  Come  on:  let's  begin.  I  long  for  Martin  to 
come." 

Jessie  felt  all  her  dread  and  horror  of  the  occult 
surge  up  in  her,  and  it  required  all  her  resolution  to 
remain  here.  But  the  call  of  her  love  was  impera- 
tive: if  she  was  to  be  permitted  to  help  Archie  at 
all,  she  must  learn  what  it  was  that  possessed  him, 
and  find  means  to  combat  it.  She  had  to  know 
first  what  it  was,  penetrate  so  far  as  her  love  had 
power  into  the  source  of  it,  diagnose  it,  if  she  was  to 
help  to  cure. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  said. 

"It's  very  simple;  you'll  soon  see.  Sit  down, 
Jessie." 

He  went  to  the  window  and  drew  aside  the  cur- 
tains. He  put  on  the  table  in  front  of  where  he  was 
to  sit  the  silver  top  of  some  toilet  bottle,  and  then 
went  to  the  door  and  turned  out  all  the  electric 
lights  at  the  switchboard.  The  moonlight  outside, 
without  shining  directly  into  the  room,  made  the 
objects  in  it  clearly  though  duskily  visible,  and 
Jessie,  where  she  sat  with  her  back  to  the  light, 
could  see  Archie's  face  and  outline,  when  .her  eyes 
got  accustomed  to  the  dimness,  quite  distinctly.  He 
sat  close  to  her  at  the  end  of  the  writing-table,  and 


306  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

just  in  front  of  him  glimmered  the  stopper  from  the 
toilet  bottle. 

''Now  I'm  going  to  look  at  that  till  I  go  off  into 
trance,"  he  said.  "Watch  what  happens  very 
closely,  for  I  may  go  into  deep  trance,  and  promise 
me  not  to  move  till  I  come  round  again.  I  dare- 
say you  will  neither  hear  nor  see  anything,  but  I 
don't  know." 

For  some  few  minutes,  as  far  as  the  girl  could 
judge,  they  sat  in  silence.  Once  or  twice  Archie 
shifted  his  position  slightly,  and  she  heard  his 
shirt-front  creak  a  little  as  he  breathed  quietly  and 
normally.  Outside  a  little  wind  stirred,  and  an  owl 
hooted. 

Then  there  came  a  change:  his  breathing  grew 
louder  as  if  he  panted  for  air,  and  now  and  again 
he  moaned,  and  she  saw  his  head  drop  forward.  This 
moaning  sound  was  horrible  to  hear,  and  but  for 
her  promise,  and  the  insistent  urging  of  her  love, 
she  must  have  got  up  and  roused  him.  His  breath 
whistled  between  his  lips  as  he  took  it  in,  and  his 
face  seemed  to  be  shining  with  some  dew  of  anguish, 
and  his  arms  twisted  and  writhed  as  if  struggling 
against  some  overmastering  force.  Then  suddenly 
all  sign  of  struggle  ceased,  he  sat  bent  forward,  but 
perfectly  still,  and  from  the  table  in  front  of  him 
came  three  loud  peremptory  raps,  as  of  splitting 
wood.  From  the  dusk  of  the  room  came  others 
which  she  could  not  localise. 

Archie  raised  his  head,  and  instead  of  leaning  over 
the  table  sank  back  in  his  chair,  his  arms  hanging 
limp  by  his  side.  He  began  to  whisper  to  himself, 
and  soon  Jessie  caught  the  words. 

"Martin,  are  you  here?"  he  kept  repeating.  "Mar- 
tin, are  you  here?    Martin,  Martin?" 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  307 

There  was  more  light  in  the  room  now.  It  eamo 
from  a  pale  greyish  efflorescence  of  illumination, 
globular  in  shape,  that  lay  apparently  in  his  left 
breast.  It  made  quite  bright  its  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood: she  could  see  the  stud  in  his  shirt  with 
absolute  distinctness.  Out  of  it  there  came  a  little 
wisp  of  mist  that  floated  up  like  a  stream  of  smoke 
above  his  shoulders.  In  the  air  there,  independently 
of  this,  there  was  forming  another  mistlike  sub- 
stance, and  the  stream  that  came  away  from  Archie 
seemed  to  join  this.  It  began  to  take  shape:  it 
spread  upwards  and  downwards  into  the  semblance 
of  a  column,  its  edges  losing  themselves  in  the  dark. 
Lines  began  to  be  interwoven  within  it:  it  was  as  if 
something  was  forming  inside  it,  like  a  chicken  in 
an  egg.  It  lost  its  vagueness  of  outline,  plaiting 
and  weaving  itself  together:  there  appeared  an  arm 
bare  to  the  shoulder,  that  rested  on  Archie's  neck: 
above  that  she  could  see  a  neck,  and  slowly  above 
the  neck  there  grew  a  smiling,  splendid  face.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  grey  robe  cast  about  the  body,  from 
which  the  bare  arm  protruded,  but  much  of  this 
was  vague. 

Jessie  felt  as  if  some  awful  paralysis  of  terror  lay 
over  her  spirit.  The  whole  room,  cool  and  fresh 
with  the  night  air  passing  in  through  the  open 
window,  reeked,  to  her  spiritual  sense,  with  evil  and 
unnameable  corruption.  Over  her  conscious  super- 
ficial self,  the  mechanism  that  directed  her  limbs 
and  worked  in  her  brain,  she  had  complete  control : 
for  Archie's  sake  she  was  learning  about  this  hellish 
visitor  who  came  to  him.  But  within,  her  soul  cried 
out  in  a  horror  of  uttermost  darkness.  Then  her 
will  took  hold  of  that  too:  whatever  God  permitted 
must  be  faced  for  the  sake  of  love. 


408         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Just  then  Archie  spoke  in  an  odd,  muffled  voice. 

"I'm  going  very  deep,"  he  said.  "But,  Martin, 
you've  made  me  so  happy  all  day.  You've  hardly 
left  me  at  all.  You're  getting  to  be  part  of  me, 
aren't  you?  Let's  talk  about  Helena.  I  say,  she  is 
a  devil,  isn't  she?" 

Jessie  had  not  known  that  anything  could  be  so 
horrible  as  the  smiling  face  that  the  apparition  bent 
on  him. 

"But  you've  ceased  hating  her,"  it  said.  "You 
love  her,  don't  you?    Always  cling  to  love!" 

"I  know.  I  adore  her.  I  believe  she  loves  me 
too."  He  laughed  and  licked  his  lips  and  his  voice 
sank,  so  that  Jessie  could  catch  no  word  of  what 
he  said.  But  he  spoke  for  a  long  time,  laughing 
occasionally,  and  making  horrible  little  movements 
with  his  arms  as  if  he  clasped  something.  Now  and 
then  he  would  perhaps  ask  a  question,  for  in  the 
same  inaudible  manner  the  apparition  answered 
him,  laughing  sometimes  in  response.  Once  or  twice 
in  that  devilish  colloquy  she  caught  a  word  or  two 
of  hideous  and  carnal  import,  and  her  sickened  love 
nearly  withered  within  her.  But  because  love  is 
immortal,  and  cannot  perish  though  all  the  blasts 
of  hell  rage  against  it,  it  still  stood  firm,  though 
scorched  and  beaten  upon.  If  she  let  it  die,  she 
felt  that  she  would  be  no  better  than  that  visible 
incarnation  of  evil  that  smiled  and  bent  over 
Archie. 

Presently  that  devilish  whispering  ceased,  and 
she  saw  that  the  apparition  was  beginning  to  lose 
its  clearness  of  outline.  Slowly  it  began  to  disin- 
tegrate into  the  weavings  of  mist  out  of  which  it 
came,  and  Archie  said,  "Good-bye,  Martin,  but  not 
for  long."    Some  of  these  streamers  seemed  to  dig- 


ACROSS  THE  STREA^I  309 

perse  in  the  air,  others  like  an  eddying  water-spout 
seemed  to  draw  back  into  that  focus  of  light  which 
lay  over  Archie's  breast.  Then  that  too  began  to 
fade,  and  in  the  stillness  and  quiet,  she  again  heard 
the  creaking  of  the  shirt  as  he  lay  back  in  his  chair 
with  closed  eyes.  Then  the  struggles  and  moanings, 
the  writhings  of  his  arms,  began  again,  and  again 
subsided,  and  he  lay  quite  still.  Outside  the  night- 
wind  stirred,  and  the  owl  hooted. 

Then  Archie  spoke  in  a  tired  husky  voice. 

"Hullo,  Jessie,"  he  said,  "it's  all  over.  By  Jove, 
it  was  ripping.  But  I  went  awfully  deep,  I  can 
remember  nothing  after  Martin  came.  What  did 
he  say?" 

Jessie  got  up. 

"I  heard  hardly  anything,"  she  said.  "He  spoke 
in  whispers  and  so  did  you." 

"Did  you  see  him?"  asked  Archie. 

"Yes,  quite  clearly.  But  I  think  I'll  go  to  bed 
now.    You  look  very  tired." 

He  had  got  up  and  turned  on  the  electric  light, 
and  stood  by  the  door  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  am  tired,"  he  said,  "but  I'm  divinely 
happy.  Tell  me  to-morrow  whatever  you  can  re- 
member.   Good-night,  Jess.    You  are  a  good  sort." 

He  detained  her  hand  for  a  moment. 

"We're  cousins,  Jess,"  he  said,  "and  you're  an 
awfully  good  friend.    Won't  you  give  me  a  kiss?" 

For  one  second  she  shrank  from  him  in  nameless 
horror.  The  next  she  put  it  all  from  her,  for  it  stood, 
no  angel  of  the  Lord,  but  a  low  bare  cowardly  im- 
pulse, in  the  path  of  her  love,  and  while  it  was 
there  she  could  not  reach  Archie. 

"Why,  of  course,"  she  said,  kissing  him.  "Good- 
night, Archie:  sleep  well." 


310  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

She  went  to  her  room,  and  turned  on  all  the  lights. 
She  felt  as  if  she  had  been  assisting  at  some  un- 
clean orgie,  she  felt  tainted  and  defiled  by  the  very- 
presence  of  that  white  evil  thing  that  had  stood 
close  to  her,  and  whispered  and  laughed  with  Archie. 
As  yet  she  had  but  looked  on  it;  what  lay  in  front 
of  her  was  to  grapple  with  it  and  tear  it  out  of  the 
tabernacle  which  it  had  begun  to  inhabit.  As  far 
as  she  could  understand  the  hellish  situation  it  was 
not  wholly  in  possession  as  yet,  for  part  of  it  when 
it  materialised  seemed  to  form  itself  in  the  air,  and 
part  only  to  ooze  out  of  its  victim.  Through  what 
adventures  and  combats  her  way  should  take  her, 
she  could  form  no  conception,  but  what  she  had 
gained  to-night,  which  was  worth  a  hundred  times 
the  sickness  and  horror  of  her  soul,  was  the  certain 
knowledge  that  some  spirit  of  discarnate  evil  was 
making  its  home  in  her  beloved.  It  had  usurped 
the  guise  of  Martin,  it  masqueraded  as  Martin; 
Archie  thought  it  was  Martin.  She  remembered 
how  just  a  week  ago  he  had  told  her  that  he  was 
like  an  empty  house,  denuded  of  the  spirit  that 
dwelt  there,  a  living  corpse  by  which  he  asked  her 
to  sit  sometimes.  At  the  time,  that  had  seemed  to 
her  just  the  figure  by  which  he  expressed  the  deso- 
lation of  his  heart:  now  it  revealed  itself  as  a  true 
and  literal  statement.  And  there  had  begun  to 
enter  into  him,  as  tenant  of  the  uninhabited  rooms, 
the  horror  that  she  had  seen. 

Jessie  fell  on  her  knees  by  her  bedside,  and  opened 
her  heart  to  the  Infinite  Love.  It  was  through  Its 
aid  alone  that  she  would  be  able  to  accomplish  the 
rescue  for  which  she  was  willing  to  give  her  life 
and  soul. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Archie  was  walking  back  to  the  house  in  Grosve- 
nor  Square  from  Oakland  Crescent,  on  the  after- 
noon of  Helena's  wedding.  Owing  to  the  acute  sus- 
pense of  the  European  situation  the  plans  of  the 
newly  married  couple  had  been  changed,  and  in- 
stead of  setting  off  at  once  in  the  yacht  for  a  month 
in  the  Norwegian  fjords,  they  had  gone  to  a  house 
of  Lord  Harlow's  in  Surrey  to  await  developments 
in  the  crisis,  or  some  kind  of  settlement.  It  was  still 
uncertain  whether  England  would  be  drawn  into 
the  war,  though  opinion  generally  regarded  that  as 
inevitable,  and  in  this  case  no  doubt  Lord  Harlow, 
an  ex-guardsman,  would  rejoin  his  regiment.  Ar- 
chie's mother  after  the  departure  of  the  bridal 
couple  had  also  left  town  for  Lacebury,  taking  with 
her  Jessie  and  Colonel  Vautier  for  a  few  days'  visit, 
but  Archie  had  decided  to  stop  another  night  in 
London. 

There  had  been  the  usual  crowds  and  chatterings 
and  excitement,  the  front  pew  kept  for  a  Princess, 
the  signing  of  names  in  the  vestry,  the  red  carpets 
and  wedding-marches,  and  the  whole  ceremony  had 
filled  Archie  with  the  greatest  amusement.  But  the 
subsequent  proceedings  had  not  amused  him  so 
much,  and  Helena's  departure,  looking  prettier  than 
ever,  with  her  husband  had  annoyed  and  exasper- 
ated him.  He  did  not  like  to  think  of  them  together, 
and  though  only  a  couple  of  nights  ago  he  and 

311 


312  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Martin  had  found  good  cause  for  whispers  and 
laughter  over  this,  it  was  not  so  diverting  when  it 
actually  occurred  as  it  had  promised  to  be.  Part 
of  that  midnight  seance,  which  he  could  not  at  first 
remember,  had  found  its  way  into  his  conscious 
mind ;  and  he  knew  that  had  been  talked  about,  and 
had  ascertained,  with  considerable  relief,  that  Jessie 
had  not  been  able  to  hear  it.  But  now  there  was  a 
savage  bitterness  in  his  mind  about  it:  Helena 
seemed  to  have  played  him  false  again.  She  ought 
to  have  refused  to  marry  the  Bradshaw  at  the  last 
moment,  and  it  was  an  ineffectual  balm  to  know 
she  did  not  care  for  him.  Perhaps  as  Jessie  had 
once  said  (though  withdrawing  it  afterwards)  she 
cared  for  nobody,  but  now  Archie  believed  that  she 
cared  for  him.  It  maddened  him  to  think  that  she 
was  the  Bradshaw's  A.B.C.  and  in  those  circum- 
stances he  had  judged  it  better  to  remain  in  town 
for  the  night,  and  distract  his  mind  and  soothe  his 
longings  with  the  amusements  and  aids  to  forget- 
fulness  which  London  was  so  ready  to  offer  to  a 
young  man  who  was  looking  for  adventures. 

But  London  proved  disappointing:  it  did  not 
seem  to  be  thinking  of  its  amusements  at  all.  Archie 
called  in  to  see  a  friend  who  last  week  had  shewn 
himself  an  eager  and  admirable  companion,  but 
found  him  to-day  disinclined  for  another  night  of 
similar  diversions,  for  he  could  neither  think  nor 
talk  about  anything  else  than  the  imminence  of 
war.  Archie  felt  himself  quite  incapable  of  taking 
any  active  interest  in  that:  it  weighed  nothing  in 
the  balance  compared  with  the  stern  duty  of  seek- 
ing enjoyment  and  forgetting  about  Helena.  What 
if  England  did  go  to  war  with  Germany?  Certainly 
he  hoped  she  would  not ;  she  had  made  no  more  than 


ACROSS  THE  STREA]VI  313 

a  friendly  understanding  with  her  AlHes — indeed 
they  were  not  even  AlHes,  they  were  but  well-dis- 
posed nations — but  even  if  she  did,  what  then? 
There  was  an  English  fleet,  was  there  not,  which 
cost  an  immense  amount  of  money  to  render  in- 
vincible, but  it  was  invincible.  Why  then  should 
he  bother  about  it,  since  he  was  not  a  sailor?  It 
was  further  supposed  that  Germany  had  an  invin- 
cible army,  and  there  you  were!  And  if  England 
had  no  army  at  all  to  speak  of,  it  was  quite  clear 
she  could  no  more  fight  Germany  on  land  than 
Germany  could  fight  her  by  sea.  So  what  on  earth 
prevented  a  little  dinner  at  a  restaurant  and  an  hour 
at  a  music  hall  and  a  little  supper  somewhere  and 
anything  that  turned  up?  Something  always 
turned  up,  and  was  usually  amusing  for  an  hour 
or  two.  But  his  friend  thought  otherwise,  and  kept 
diving  out  into  the  street  to  get  some  fresh  edition 
of  an  evening  paper  hot  from  the  press  and  crammed 
with  fresh  inventions,  and  Archie  left  this  insane 
patriot  in  disgust  at  his  excitement  over  so  detached 
an  affair  as  a  European  war.  He  tried  a  second 
friend  with  no  better  success:  there  was  a  certain 
excuse  for  him  as  he  was  a  subaltern  in  the  Guards. 
But  for  the  first  there  was  none,  as  he  was  in  an 
office  in  the  city. 

There  were  still  four  or  five  hours  to  get  through 
before  it  would  be  reasonable  to  think  about  dinner, 
after  which,  even  if  he  started  alone,  the  hours 
would  take  care  of  themselves  very  pleasantly,  and 
he  had  to  fill  them  somehow.  There  were  some 
proofs  of  his  book  waiting  for  him  at  home,  and 
hoping  to  get  interested  in  this  first-born  public 
child  of  his  brain,  he  sat  down  with  a  view  to  cor- 
recting them.     But  he  found  himself  reading  the 


314  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

pages  as  if  there  was  nothing  intelhgible  printed  on 
them.  True,  if  he  forced  himself  to  attend,  he 
could  see  that  grammatical  sentences  succeeded  each 
other,  but  they  conveyed  no  further  impression. 
There  was  a  lot  about  the  sea,  but  why  on  earth 
had  he  taken  the  trouble  to  write  it?  He  could 
remember  writing  it:  he  could  call  up  an  image  of 
himself  sitting  in  the  garden  at  Silorno  eagerly 
writing,  consciously  erasing,  walking  up  and  down 
in  the  attempt  to  frame  a  phrase  that  should  ex- 
actly reproduce  some  mood  of  his  mind.  But  what 
had  inspired  those  strivings  and  despairs  and  ex- 
ultations? Here  was  the  record  of  them,  and  it 
seemed  now  to  be  about  nothing.  "The  rain  in 
the  night  had  washed  the  white  soil  into  the  rim 
of  the  sea,  that  was  clouded  like  absinthe."  He 
could  well  remember  the  search  for  and  the  finding 
of  that  particular  simile.  He  and  Harry  had  been 
into  Genoa  a  week  before,  and  out  of  curiosity  had 
ordered  absinthe  at  a  cafe.  The  drink,  qua  drink, 
was  mildly  unpleasant,  resembling  aniseed,  but  it 
had  been  worth  while  having  it,  merely  to  have  got 
that  perfectly  fitting  simile.  The  effect,  too,  had 
been  rather  remarkable :  it  produced  a  sort  of  heady 
lightness  and  sense  of  well-being:  colours  seemed 
strangely  vivid  and  intensified,  and.  .  .  . 

Archie  got  up  from  his  meaningless  proofs.  It 
was  absinthe  that  would  help  him  to  fill  up  those 
dull  hours  till  dinner-time,  and  he  remembered  hav- 
ing seen  in  some  little  French  restaurant  in  Soho 
the  stuff  he  wanted.  Very  likely  you  could  get  it 
anywhere,  but  he  wanted  it  from  that  particular 
place,  for  there  had  come  in  one  evening  when  he 
dined  there  a  most  melancholy-looking  person  who 
had  ordered  it  and  sat  and  sipped.    Somehow  the 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  315 

man's  face  had  made  an  impression  on  him,  so  un- 
happy was  it.  He  remembered  also  his  face  half-an- 
hour  afterwards  when  he  began  his  dinner,  and  no 
serener,  more  contented  countenance  could  have 
been  imagined.  ...  So  he  must  have  his  absinthe 
from  that  restaurant:  clearly  they  had  a  very  good 
brand  of  it  there. 

As  he  drove  out  alone  that  evening  to  dine,  he 
heard  the  news  vendors  shouting  out  the  English 
ultimatum  to  Germany,  and  saw  the  placards  in  the 
streets.  The  shouting  sounded  wonderfully  musical, 
and  below  the  roar  of  the  street  traflBic  was  a  muffled 
harmony  as  of  pealing  bells.  The  drab  colours  of 
London  were  shot  with  prismatic  hues:  never  had 
the  streets  appeared  so  beautiful.  There  was  even 
beauty  in  the  fact  of  the  outbreak  of  war,  for  Eng- 
land was  going  to  war  for  the  sake  of  liberty,  which 
was  a  fine,  a  noble,  adventure.  And  how  lovely  the 
English  girls  and  boys  were,  who  crowded  the  pave- 
ments :  they  were  like  beds  of  exquisite  flowers.  For 
himself,  he  w^as  going  to  dine  at  the  French  restau- 
rant in  Soho.  for  that  w^ould  be  in  the  nature  of 
supporting  our  new  Allies.  Afterwards  there  were 
the  streets  and  the  music-halls,  and  all  the  mysteries 
of  the  short  summer  night.  Then  dawn  would  break, 
rose-coloured  dawn  with  her  finger  on  her  lips,  and 
sweet  silent  mouth,  a  little  ashamed  of  her  sister, 
night,  but  sympathetic  at  heart.  Dawn  was  always 
a  little  prudish,  a  little  Quakerish. 

The  days  of  a  divine  August  went  by,  and  the 
line  of  German  invasion  swept  forward  like  a  tide 
that  knows  no  ebb  over  all  Belgium  and  nSrth-east 
France.  The  British  Expeditionary  Force  started 
and  was  swept  back  also  like  the  jetsam  on  the  sea- 


316  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

shore.  The  call  came  for  the  raising  of  an  army,  and 
East  and  West,  North  and  South,  the  recruiting 
offices  were  like  choked  waterways,  and  still  the  flood 
of  men,  in  whose  hearts  the  fact  of  England  had 
awoke,  poured  in.  Hospitals,  no  less  than  recruiting 
offices,  were  gorged  with  the  returning  wounded; 
women  by  the  hundred  and  by  the  thousand  volun- 
teered as  nurses,  and  went  to  hospitals  to  be  trained. 
The  whole  of  comfortable  England  intent  hitherto 
on  its  sports,  its  leisure,  its  general  superiority  to 
the  rest  of  the  world,  suddenly  became  aware  that 
an  immense  and  vital  danger  threatened  it.  A 
chorus  of  objurgation  arose  from  the  brazen-throat- 
ed press,  each  organ  trying  who  could  shout  the 
loudest,  at  the  unpreparedness  of  the  country,  and 
much  valuable  energy  was  spent  in  head  lines  and 
recriminations.  There  was  a  shortage  of  guns,  a 
shortage  of  ammunition,  a  shortage  of  everything 
which  constitutes  the  success  of  war.  The  only 
thing  of  which  there  was  not  a  shortage  was  of  those 
who  threw  aside  all  other  considerations,  such  as  in- 
come and  secure  living  and  life  itself,  and  gave  them- 
selves to  assist  in  what  manner  they  could  the  cause 
for  which  England  had  gone  to  war. 

To  Archie  this  all  seemed  a  very  hysterical  and 
uncomfortable  attack  of  nerves.  In  several  ways 
it  affected  him  personally,  for  William,  than  whoni 
there  was  no  more  reliable  servant,  was  among  the 
first  to  leave  his  well-paid  situation,  and  present 
himself  at  a  recruiting  office.  Archie  hated  that: 
there  would  be  the  nuisance  of  getting  a  new  ser- 
vant, who  did  not  know  where  precisely  he  ought  to 
put  Archie's  tooth-powder,  and  how  to  arrange  his 
clothes.     William  had  announced  the  fact,  too,  in 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  317 

the  suddenest  of  manners;  he  brought  it  out  as  he 
brought  in  Archie's  morning  tea. 

"And  if  you  can  spare  me  at  once,  my  lord,"  he 
said,  "I  had  better  go  on  Saturday." 

Archie  felt  peculiarly  devilish  that  morning;  it 
rained,  and  that  absinthe  that  should  have  arrived 
last  night  had  not  come. 

"I  think  it's  very  inconsiderate  of  you,  William," 
he  said.  "But  I  suppose  you  expect  to  get  on  well, 
and  draw  higher  pay  than  you  get  here.  So  I  shall 
have  to  raise  your  wages.  All  right:  I'll  give  you  a 
pound  a  month  more,  and  don't  let  me  hear  any 
more  about  it." 

He  knew  perfectly  well  that  this  was  not  Wilham's 
reason,  but  it  amused  him  to  suggest  it.  He  wanted 
to  see  how  William  would  take  it.  The  fact  that  he 
knew  that  the  man  was  devoted  to  him  made  the 
point. 

William  busied  himself  with  razors  and  tooth- 
brushes, replying  nothing. 

"Can't  you  hear  what  I  say?"  asked  Archie,  pour- 
ing himself  out  his  tea. 

William  faced  round. 

"Yes,  Master  Archie,"  he  said.  "I  heard.  But  I 
knew  you  didn't  mean  that.  You  know  how  I've 
served  you  and  worked  for  you  all  these  years.  You 
would  scorn  to  think  that  of  me,  I  should  say." 

Archie  had  noticed  the  "Master  Archie"  instead  of 
"my  lord;"  both  William  and  Blessington  often  for- 
got that  he  was  "my  lord,"  and  it  always  used  to 
please  him  that  to  the  sense  of  love  he  was  still  a 
young  boy.  And  in  spite  of  his  irritation  and  peev- 
ish morning  temper,  it  touched  some  part  of  him 
that  still  lived  below  the  corruption  that  was  spread- 


318  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

ing  over  him  like  some  jungle-growing  lichen.  But 
he  had  to  force  his  way  through  that  to  reply. 

"You  must  do  as  you  think  right,  William,"  he 
said. 

William  had  finished  the  arrangements  of  his 
dressing,  and  stood  for  a  moment  by  his  bedside 
with  Archie's  evening  clothes  bundled  onto  his  arm. 

"Yes,  Master  Archie,"  he  said.  "And  you'll  be 
joining  up  too  before  long,  won't  you?  I  should 
dearly  love  to  be  your  soldier-servant,  sir,  if  you 
could  manage  it." 

All  Archie's  ill-humour  returned  at  that  unfor- 
tunate suggestion. 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  not  be  impertinent,"  he 
said.     "That'U  do." 

William's  face  fell. 

"I  had  no  thought  of  impertinence,  my  lord,"  he 
said.    "I  only  thought, " 

"I  told  you  that  would  do,"  said  Archie. 

Three  days  afterwards  William  left.  He  came  to 
say  "good-bye"  to  Archie,  who  did  not  look  up  from 
the  paper  he  was  reading.  Archie  was  suffering  in- 
convenience from  his  departure,  and  this  was  the 
best  way  of  making  William  feel  it.  But  when  the 
door  had  shut  again,  and  William  was  gone,  he  felt 
a  sudden  horror  of  the  thing  that  seemed  to  be  him- 
self, and  he  ran  out,  and  called  William  back.  All 
these  days  he  had  not  had  a  word  or  a  kindly  gesture 
for  him.  .  .  . 

"Good-bye,  William,"  he  said.  "I  wish  you  all 
good  luck.  I've  treated  you  like  a  beast  these  last 
days,  and  I'm  awfully  sorry.  You're  the  best  fellow 
a  man  could  have,  and  you  must  try  to  forget  the 
horrid  way  I've  behaved." 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  319 

William  stood  with  his  hand  in  Archie's  for  a 
moment. 

"You're  always  my  Master  Archie,  sir,"  he  said. 

Well,  there  was  the  end  of  William :  before  he  had 
got  back  to  his  paper  again,  Archie  wondered  what 
had  possessed  him  to  throw  a  kind  word  to  a  dog  like 
that,  who  had  left  him  at  three  days'  notice  to  join 
this  ridiculous  military  conspiracy.  William  did  not 
care  how  much  he  inconvenienced  Archie,  who  had 
always  treated  him  more  like  a  subordinate  friend 
than  a  servant.  He  had  helped  William  in  a  hun- 
dred ways,  had  given  him  old  clothes,  had  constantly 
asked  after  his  mother,  had  left  his  letters  about  for 
William  to  read,  if  he  chose.  It  seemed  rank  treach- 
ery. .  .  . 

Others  were  treacherous,  too;  his  mother,  for  in- 
stance, was  immediately  going  up  to  town,  to  take 
charge  of  the  house  in  Grosvenor  Square,  which  was 
to  be  turned  into  a  hospital  for  wounded  oflficers. 
She  was  to  become  a  sort  of  housekeeper,  so  Archie 
figured  it,  and  merely  superintend  domestic  arrange- 
ments. She  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
nursing  and  the  surgery,  which  had  a  certain  fasci- 
nation. .  .  .  He  could  picture  a  sort  of  pleasure  in 
seeing  a  man's  leg  cut  off,  or  in  standing  by  while 
doctors  pulled  bandages  off  festering  wounds.  To 
feel  well  and  strong  while  others  were  suffering  had 
an  intelligible  interest:  to  witness  decay  and  cor- 
ruption and  pain  was  a  point  that  appealed  to  him 
now.  But  Lady  Tintagel  was  going  to  do  nothing 
of  the  sort:  she  was  just  going  to  be  a  housekeeper. 
It  was  very  selfish  of  her:  Archie  would  certainly 
want,  from  time  to  time,  to  go  up  to  town  and  spend 
a  night  or  two  there,  and  now  he  would  have  to  go 


320  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

to  a  hotel  or  a  club,  instead  of  profiting  by  the  spa- 
cious privacy  of  his  father's  house.  Charity  begins 
at  home :  and  his  mother  had  started  charity  on  most 
extraneous  lines.  Jessie  had  followed  this  lead,  "the 
lead  of  so-called  trumps,"  as  Archie  framed  a  private 
phrase.  She  would  start  by  being  not  even  a  house- 
keeper, but  a  sort  of  kitchen-maid,  at  the  same  hos- 
pital. She  had  an  insane  desire  to  work,  to  do  some- 
thing that  cost  her  something,  instead  of  engaging  a 
kitchen-maid,  and  paying  her  wages  to  go  to  some 
hospital  or  other.  There  was  a  craze  for  "personal 
service,"  instead  of  getting  other  people  to  do  work 
for  you,  if  you  felt  work  had  to  be  done.  People 
wanted  to  "do  their  bit,"  to  employ  an  odious  ex- 
pression which  was  beginning  to  obtain  currency. 
The  nation  was  going  to  be  mobilised:  hand  and 
heart  had  to  serve  some  vague  national  idea.  Occa- 
sionally, as  on  the  night  when  war  was  declared, 
Archie  saw  an  aesthetic  beauty  in  the  notion  of  up- 
holding right  and  liberties,  but  he  had  not  then 
reckoned  with  the  fact  that  personal  inconvenience 
might  result  from  that  Quixotic  revolution.  Quixot- 
ism was  fine  in  theory,  but  it  was  a  dream,  not  to 
be  encouraged  in  waking  hours,  when  far  more  im- 
portant and  realisable  commodities,  like  whiskey 
and  absinthe,  engaged  the  true  attention. 

But  whoever  else  was  treacherous,  his  father  at 
least  was  loyal,  and  shewed  no  sign  of  becoming  a 
butler  or  a  footman,  to  correspond  with  his  wife  and 
Jessie.  Occasionally  some  abhorrent  report  con- 
cerning the  German  advance  through  Belgium  used 
to  reach  his  brain,  and  he  would  walk  up  and  down 
his  room  in  the  evening,  with  a  martial  tread,  and  a 
glance  at  a  sword  that  hung  above  his  writing-table, 
and  wish  he  was  younger  and  able  to  "have  a  go"  at 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  321 

those  beastly  Bosches.  But  invariably  this  mood 
which  was  always  short,  was  succeeded  by  another, 
not  bellicose,  but  domestic. 

''This  damned  war  is  going  to  break  up  home-life 
in  England,"  he  would  say,  "and  I've  no  doubt  that 
was  what  the  Germans  aimed  at.  And  they're  suc- 
ceeding, too.  Look  at  this  house:  {here's  your  moth- 
er going  to  leave  us,  and  there's  Helena's  husband 
expecting  every  day  to  be  sent  to  France,  and  there's 
Jessie  leaving  her  father  to  wash  up  dishes.  What's 
going  to  become  of  our  English  homes  if  that  goes 
on,  for,  mark  you,  they  are  the  root  of  our  national 
life.  It's  digging  up  the  trees'  roots  to  break  up 
English  homes.  You  and  I,  Archie,  are  the  only  ones 
who  are  staunch  to  our  homes.  Pass  me  that  bottle, 
will  you?" 

"May  I  help  myself,  on  the  way?"  said  Archie. 

"Yes,  of  course,  my  dear  boy.  I  say,  it  was  a 
funny  state  of  things  when  you  and  I  used  to  have 
our  evening  drinks  alone,  instead  of  enjoying  them 
and  chatting  over  them  together.  Your  man  Wil- 
liam, too,  he's  gone  and  enlisted,  hasn't  he?  The 
old  bulwarks  of  England  are  going  fast;  the  homes 
are  being  broken  up,  and  the  very  servants  come  and 
go  as  they  choose.  An  establishment  was  an  estab- 
lishment in  the  old  days:  it  all  stood  and  fell  to- 
gether, if  you  see  what  I  mean.  But  I  wish  I  was 
young  enough  to  have  a  go  at  the  Bosches." 

"I'm  thinking  of  going,"  Archie  would  say,  merely 
in  order  to  enjoy  his  father's  reply. 

"Well,  in  my  opinion  you'd  be  doing  a  very  wrong 
thing,  then,"  said  Lord  Tintagel.  "I  hope.you  won't 
seriously  think  of  that.  I  tell  you  your  duty  is  here 
with  your  poor  old  father.  When  I'm  gone,  you 
may  do  what  you  please,  and  I  daresay  you  won't 


322  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

have  very  long  to  wait.  But  while  rm  here,  I  hope 
you'll  remember  that  they  say  in  church,  'Honour 
thy  father  and  thy  mother.'  You  can't  go  behind 
the  commandments,  or  the  psalms,  whichever  it  is." 
But  these  sessions  in  Lord  Tintagel's  room  of  an 
evening,  with  the  liquid  in  the  decanter  sinking 
steadily  like  a  well  in  time  of  drought,  were  be- 
coming rather  tedious  to  Archie.  Since  his  discov- 
ery of  absinthe,  they  had  even  become  rather  gross, 
and  he  congratulated  himself  on  having  seen  the 
sordidness  of  mere  swilling.  That  sort  of  thing  was 
only  fit  for  course,  rough  tastes;  it  seemed  to  him  to 
lack  all  delicacy  and  aesthetic  value,  and  he  often 
left  his  father,  who  congratulated  him  on  his  ab- 
stemiousness, after  no  more  than  a  friendly  glass  of 
good  fellowship,  and  went  upstairs  to  his  room  to 
enjoy  subtler  and  more  refined  sensations.  Indeed 
his  chief  interest  in  that  half-hour  or  so  in  his 
father's  room  was  derived  from  the  sight  of  his 
father's  heavy  potations,  the  struggle  of  his  maun- 
dering thoughts  to  emerge  into  language,  much  as 
some  tilted  half-moon  struggles  to  pierce  the  flying 
clouds  on  some  tempestuous  night.  The  sight  of  his 
father's  deterioration  and  gradual  wreck  somehow 
fascinated  him;  there  was  decay  and  corruption  in 
it,  and  those  no  longer  aroused  in  him  that  horror 
with  which  in  dreams  he  had  observed  the  emerg- 
ence of  the  writhing  worm  from  the  white  statue  of 
Helena.  Such  things  were  no  longer  disgusting  and 
repulsive:  they  claimed  kinship  with  something  in 
his  soul  that  was  very  potent.  Once  Martin  had 
alluded  to  that  vision  as  a  warning,  and  he  had  not 
taken  that  warning,  in  consequence  of  which  he  had 
passed  an  utterly  miserable  month  after  Helena's 
rejection  of  him.    But  now  values  had  altogether 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  323 

changed:  decay  no  longer  revolted  him.  But  with 
a  hypocrisy  that  had  become  characteristic  of  him 
he  told  himself  that  the  sight  of  his  father's  nightly 
intoxication  was  a  lesson  to  himself.  He  must  ob- 
serve that  degrading  spectacle,  and  learn  from  it 
what  the  result  of  too  much  whiskey  was.  And  then 
he  retired  to  his  bedroom  to  think  it  over  as  he 
sipped  the  clouded  aroma  of  his  absinthe. 

Jessie  came  down  for  another  week-end  before  she 
took  her  kitchen-maid  situation  and  brought  the 
news  that  a  fresh  draft  of  Lord  Harlow's  regiment 
was  ordered  to  the  front,  and  that  he  would  leave 
for  France  within  the  next  day  or  two. 

Archie  felt  a  wild  desire  to  laugh,  to  skip,  to  shew 
his  intense  appreciation  of  these  tidings.  But  he 
remembered  that  Jessie  was  not  his  confidante  to 
that  extent,  and  checked  his  exuberant  inclination. 

"Poor  Helena!"  he  said,  with  an  accent  of  great 
sincerity.  "She  must  be  broken-hearted.  Why, 
thej'-'ve  only  been  married  a  fortnight,  if  as  much." 

It  was  excellently  said,  and  Jessie  felt  she  would 
have  shewn  herself  an  infidel  with  regard  to  the 
general  decency  of  the  human  race  if  she  had  not 
accepted  those  words  with  the  sincerity  with  which 
they  surely  must  have  been  uttered.  She  resolutely 
put  away  from  her  all  those  misgivings  that  had  as- 
sailed her  when  first  she  knew  of  Archie's  changed 
attitude  towards  her  sister. 

"You  have  been  a  brick  about  Helena,"  she  said. 
"I  want  to  tell  you  that.  Your  forgiveness  of  the 
way  she  treated  you  seems  to  me  beyond  all  praise." 

"Oh,  nonsense,"  said  he  lightly.  "Besides  it  was 
so  dreadfully  uncomfortable  being  always-  angry  and 
miserable.  Martin  shewed  me  that.  But  about 
Helena:  how  is  she  bearing  it?" 


324  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

It  was  now  Jessie's  turn  to  be  obliged  to  cloak  her 
meaning. 

"Very  calmly  and  bravely,"  she  said. 

"She  would,"  said  Archie,  enthusiastically.  "One 
always  felt  there  was  a  steel  will  behind  all  Helena's 
gentleness.  What  will  she  do,  do  you  think?  Would 
she  perhaps  like  to  come  down  here?  There  isn't 
much  to  offer  her,  but  then  London  in  August 
doesn't  offer  much  either." 

Suddenly  all  Jessie's  mistrust  stirred  and  erected 
itself.  She  could  not  believe  that  this  scheme  which 
would  throw  Helena  and  Archie  completely  together 
could  be  made  with  the  apparent  innocence  with 
which  it  was  put  forward.  How  was  it  possible  that 
Archie,  who  so  few  weeks  ago  was  in  such  depths  of 
misery  and  bitterness,  could  honourably  suggest  so 
dangerous  a  plan?  It  could  not  be  Archie  who  sug- 
gested it:  it  came  from  that  smiling  white  presence 
which  she  had  seen  in  his  room  not  many  nights  ago. 
And  it  was  just  that  which  she  could  not  say  to  him. 

"It's  nice  of  you  to  think  of  that,"  she  said. 

"Not  a  bit:  it  would  be  nice  for  me,  not  nice  of  me. 
And  besides,"  he  added  with  an  amazing  cynicism, 
"it  would  be  my  way  of  'doing  my  bit,'  which  every- 
body is  talking  about,  if  I  could  make  things  cheer- 
fuller  for  pretty  women  like  poor  Helena,  whose 
husband  has  gone  out  to  fight." 

The  moment  he  had  said  it,  he  was  sorry.  But  for 
the  moment  he  had  forgotten  that  he  was  speaking 
to  Jessie:  the  sentence  had  come  out  of  his  mouth 
as  if  he  were  but  talking  to  himself.  Also  it  intro- 
duced the  suggestion  of  his  own  forbearance  to 
enlist. 

There  was  a  rather  awkward  silence,  and  he  felt 
irritated  with  Jessie  for  not  changing  the  subject 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  325 

which  he  had  so  incautiously  brought  forward.  But 
that  was  like  her.  She  had  no  tact  in  such  matters, 
refusing  to  be  insincere,  when  insincerity  was  so 
simple  a  matter.  His  irritation  grew  on  him,  and 
at  the  same  time  he  wanted  to  know  what  Jessie 
thought  of  his  remaining  inertly  here,  while  all  his 
contemporaries  were  enlisting.  Why  he  wanted  to 
know  he  did  not  define:  the  motive  perhaps  be- 
longed to  the  time  when  Jessie  had  been  so  good  a 
friend,  and  perhaps  he  knew  that  she  was  so  still. 

"Or,  do  you  think  that  I  ought  to  behave  like 
William,  and  serve  my  country?"  he  asked. 

Jessie  sat  with  eyes  downcast  for  a  moment.  Then 
she  raised  them  and  looked  him  in  the  face,  with  all 
her  affection  and  sincerity  alight  in  them.  j: 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know  what  I  think, 
Archie?"  she  asked. 

"Certainly,  I  do." 

"Well,  I  can't  understand  your  not  doing  it,"  she 
said.  "At  the  same  time,  I  think  it  is  a  matter 
about  which  you  must  decide  for  yourself." 

The  sincerity  of  his  manner  equalled  hers.  He 
never  spoke  with  more  apparent  frankness. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  don't?"  he  said.  "It's  this. 
Do  you  remember  one  night  our  finding  that  my 
father  was  breaking  the  contract  he  made  with  me 
about  drinking?  Do  you  remember  how  sordid  and 
horrible  the  discovery  was?" 

Jessie  remembered  quite  well  how  Archie  had 
laughed  at  it. 

"I  remember  the  evening,"  she  said. 

"Well,  we've  renewed  our  contract,"  said  he,  "and 
I'm  the  only  person  in  the  world  who  can  keep  my 
father  to  it.  If  I  left  him  he  would  drink  himself  to 
death.     Where  then  do  you  think  my  duty  lies, 


326         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Jessie?  Isn't  it  clearly  for  me  to  save  my  father? 
Can  there  be  a  more  obvious  duty  than  that.  Do 
you  think  I  have  a  very  delightful  life  down  here, 
all  alone  with  him?  Wouldn't  it  be  vastly  easier  for 
me  to  join  all  my  friends  and  go  out  alongside  of 
them?  I  know  my  conduct  lays  me  open  to  mis- 
conception, but  I  must  just  be  thick-skinned  over 
that.  But  I  hope  you  won't  misjudge  me.  Besides, 
my  father  has  said  that  he  forbids  me  to  go.  Of 
course,  I  could  leave  him:  he  doesn't  lock  me  up. 
But  I  can't  see  how  I  should  be  right  in  leaving  him. 
I'm  the  one  anchor  he  has  left." 

He  paused  a  moment,  thinking  over,  with  that 
stupendous  swiftness  of  brain  that  was  the  result 
of  Martin's  inspiration,  all  he  had  said,  and  remem- 
bered his  light  cynicism  with  regard  to  his  "bit." 

"I  know  I  rather  shocked  you  just  now,"  he  said, 
"when  I  spoke  of  its  being  *my  bit'  to  console  pretty 
women  whose  husbands  had  gone  out.  But  some- 
times one  has  to  be  flippant  to  conceal  one's  real 
thoughts  on  a  serious  subject,  for  I  did  not  foresee 
then  that  we  should  talk  it  out.  So  there's  the  end 
of  that  jest." 

So  that  had  been  a  jest,  not  to  be  taken  seriously. 
But  it  was  a  grimmer  affair  for  Jessie  not  to  be  able 
to  take  seriously  Archie's  seriousness.  For  a  moment 
the  frankness  of  his  manner  had  convinced  her,  but 
very  soon  her  conviction  collapsed  like  a  house  of 
cards  as  he  went  on  speaking.  The  horribleness  of 
the  discovery  of  his  father's  drinking,  for  instance, 
when  what  she  remembered  was  Archie's  laughter! 
If  he  could  say  that,  what  credence  could  possibly 
be  placed  in  the  picture  he  had  drawn  of  himself  as 
his  father's  last  hope?    Or  what  in  the  image  of  him- 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  327 

self  as  one  who  must  silently  bear  cruel  misconcep- 
tion?   She  could  believe  none  of  it.  .  .  . 

Yet  it  was  not  the  Archie  whom  she  loved  with  all 
the  sweetness  and  strength  of  her  nature  who  spoke, 
but  the  Thing  that  was  possessing  him  and  filling 
his  soul  from  the  reservoir  of  some  immense  abyss 
of  pure  evil.  She  felt  sure  she  did  not  misjudge 
him:  true  and  infinitely  tragic  was  her  comprehen- 
sion. 

"It  is  entirely  for  you  to  decide,  Archie,"  she  said. 
"I  think  I  fully  appreciate  the  worth  of  your  rea- 
sons." 

Indeed,  she  knew  not  what  else  to  say,  though  the 
bitter  doubleness  of  her  words  cut  her  to  the  heart. 
But  if  she  could  help  Archie  at  all,  she  must  at  all 
costs  retain  such  confidence  as  he  gave  her,  must  not 
give  him  the  chance  of  quarrelling  with  her. 

To  her  great  relief,  he  seemed  to  accept  the  literal 
value  of  her  words,  and  took  her  arm.  And  this 
time  she  felt  in  her  soul  that  there  was  sincerity 
in  his  speech. 

"You  are  a  good  friend,  Jessie,"  he  said.  "Don't 
give  me  up,  will  you?" 

At  that  she  could  stand  on  solid  ground  again. 

"I  couldn't,"  she  said  quietly. 

They  were  strolling  together  by  the  edge  of  the 
lake  in  the  hour  of  sunset,  and  Jessie,  though  sick  at 
heart  and  tortured  by  the  weight  of  her  forebodings, 
and  the  tempest  of  fire  and  blood  which  had  burst 
on  Europe,  yet  tried  to  open  her  heart  to  the  sweet 
spell  of  the  tranquil  evening.  Somewhere  behind 
the  cloud  of  evil  which  had  so  suddenly  taken  shape 
in  that  host  of  barbarians  who  already  had  over- 
run Belgium,  and  which  no  less  was  invading  the 


328         ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

spirit  of  the  boy  she  loved  with  the  uttermost  fibre 
of  her  being,  there  shone  the  eternal  serenity  of 
Omnipotent  Mercy.  But  He  dealt  through  human 
means;  it  was  through  those  who  had  left  love  and 
home  and  ease  behind  them  to  perish  in  France, 
that  that  torrent  would  be  stayed,  and  through  her, 
though  in  ways  she  could  not  conjecture,  that  would 
come  the  delivery  of  her  beloved.  And  in  the  rose- 
flecked  sky,  the  leafy  towers  of  the  elms,  the  bosom 
of  the  lake,  that  Power  also  dwelt,  no  less  than  in  the 
hearts  that  yearned  for  its  presence  and  its  mani- 
festation. As  in  a  glass  darkly  she  beheld  its  re- 
flection, which  nothing  could  ever  shatter.  Of  that 
she  must  never  lose  sight,  nor  cease  to  keep  her  in- 
ward eye  fixed  on  the  gleam,  which  some  day  would 
signal  to  her. 

About  a  week  later  Archie  was  spending  a  de- 
lectable morning  at  the  bathing-place.  Never  had 
there  been  so  superb  an  imitation  of  Italian  weather 
in  England  as  this  year,  and  day  after  day  went  by 
in  unclouded  brightness  and  strong,  fresh  heat.  In 
those  delightful  conditions  it  had  been  perfectly 
easy  for  him  to  take  his  mind  completely  away  from 
the  war,  and  the  misconceptions  which  he  was  possi- 
bly suffering  under.  He  gave  every  morning  but  the 
briefest  glance  to  the  paper,  for  there  was  a  tire- 
some uniformity  about  the  news,  and  a  monotonous 
regularity  about  the  daily  map,  which  marked  the 
progress  of  the  German  line  across  north-east  France. 
He  gave  hardly  more  thought  to  Helena,  who 
seemed  to  think  it  more  appropriate  to  stay  in  Lon- 
don with  her  father,  just  for  the  present,  but  had 
written  the  most  Helenistic  of  letters,  saying  how 
sweet  Archie's  sympathy  was  to  her,  and  how  acute 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  329 

her  anxiety  concerning  her  husband.  Certainly  at  the 
moment  this  was  the  right  attitude  to  take,  and 
Archie  really  did  not  much  care  whether  she  was 
here  with  him  or  not,  for  he  had  found  his  way 
into  the  Paradise  that  forms  the  portico  of  the  pal- 
ace where  the  absinthe-drinker  dwelled,  and  not  yet 
had  he  penetrated  into  the  halls  of  Hell  that  lie  be- 
yond. 

His  pleasure  in  the  fact  of  being  alive,  in  the 
colours  of  morning  and  evening,  in  the  touch  of 
cool  waters,  in  the  whispering  of  wind  among  the 
firs,  was  quickened  to  an  inconceivable  degree:  it 
was  impossible  to  want  anything  except  the  privi- 
lege of  enjoying  this  amazing  thrill  of  existence. 
And  with  it  there  had  returned  to  him  the  need  of 
expressing  himself  in  writing;  a  new  aspect  of  the 
world  had  been  revealed  to  him,  and  without  strug- 
gle, but  with  an  even-flowing  pen,  he  set  himself  to 
record  it,  in  veiled  phrases  and  descriptions  through 
which,  as  in  chinks  of  light  seen  at  the  edges  of 
drawn  blinds,  there  came  hints  and  suggestions  of 
the  light  that  had  dawned  on  him.  Where  before 
it  was  the  clear  stainlessness  of  the  sea,  the  purify- 
ing breath  of  great  winds,  that  had  been  his  theme; 
now  instead,  the  satyr  crouched  in  the  bushes,  the 
snake  lay  coiled  in  the  heather.  It  was  from  the 
slime  and  mud  and  from  among  blind,  crawling 
things  that  the  water-lily  sprang,  and  where  before 
the  enchantment  of  life  moved  him,  he  felt  now 
only  the  call  of  putrefaction  and  decay.  The  lethal 
side  of  the  created  world  had  become  exquisite  in  his 
eyes,  and  the  beauty  of  it  was  derived  from  its  ever- 
lasting corruption,  not  from  the  eternal  upspring- 
ing  of  life.  Lust,  not  Love,  was  the  force  that  kept 
it  young,  and  renewed  it  so  that  the  harvest  of  its 


330  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

decay  should  never  cease  to  be  reaped.  His  mind 
had  become  a  mirror  that  distorted  into  grotesque 
and  evil  shapes  every  image  of  beauty  that  was  re- 
flected in  it,  and  rejoiced  in  that:  it  seemed  to  him 
that  all  nature,  as  well  as  all  human  motive,  was 
based  upon  this  exquisite  secret  that  he  had  dis- 
covered. But  it  would  never  do  to  state  it  with 
what  he  considered  the  bald  realism  of  those  ludi- 
crous sea-pieces  he  had  written  at  Silorno:  he  must 
wrap  his  message  up  in  a  sort  of  mystic  subtlety,  so 
that  only  those  who  had  implanted  in  them  the  true 
instinct  should  be  able  to  fill  their  souls  with  the 
perfume  of  his  flowers.  Others  might  guess  and 
wonder  and  be  puzzled,  and  perhaps  see  so  far  as  to 
put  down  his  book  with  disgust  that  was  still  half 
incredulous,  but  only  the  initiated  would  be  able  to 
grasp  wholly  the  message  that  lurked  in  his  hints 
and  allusions.  His  style,  underneath  this  new  in- 
spiration, had  developed  into  an  instrument  of  mar- 
vellous beauty,  and  often,  when  he  had  written  a 
page  or  two,  he  would  read  it  out  aloud  to  himself, 
in  wonder  at  that  exquisite  diction,  and  all  the  time 
he  felt  that  he  was  reading  aloud  to  Martin  what 
Martin  had  dictated  to  him. 

He  was  employed  thus  on  this  particular  morning 
down  at  the  bathing  place.  He  had  already  had  a 
long  swim,  and  without  dressing  lay  down  on  the 
short  turf,  and  got  out  his  writing-pad,  when  his 
new  servant,  who  had  taken  William's  place,  came 
down  with  a  telegram  for  him.  He  was  a  very  good- 
looking  boy,  quick  in  movement  and  swift  to  smile, 
and  already  Archie  wondered  how  he  could  have  re- 
gretted the  departure  of  plain,  middle-aged  William. 
Only  last  evening,  Archie  idly  glancing  through  a 
field-glass,  had  seen  the  boy  far  off  in  the  meadow 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  331 

beyond  the  lake  in  company  with  an  extremely 
pretty  housemaid  whom  he  had  often  noticed  about 
the  passages.  The  two  had  sat  there  some  time 
talking,  and  then  Archie  saw  the  boy  look  quickly 
round,  and  kiss  her.  He  liked  that  immensely,  that 
was  the  way  youth  should  behave.  He  almost  hoped 
that  it  was  Thomas  who  had  taken  from  his  table 
one  of  those  new  ten-shilling  notes  that  he  had 
missed.  He  mustn't  do  it  too  often,  for  that  would 
be  a  bore,  but  he  liked  to  think  the  boy  had  taken  it, 
and  perhaps  converted  it  into  a  decoration  for  the 
pretty  housemaid.  Anyhow,  Thomas,  with  his 
handsome  face  and  his  kissings  in  the  meadow  and 
his  possible  pilferings  was  an  attractive  boy,  and 
clearly  developing  along  the  right  lines. 

The  boy  hesitated  a  moment  seeing  Archie  drip- 
ping and  naked. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "but  there 
came  a  telegram  for  you,  and  I  thought  I  had  better 
bring  it  down." 

"Certainly,  but  why  beg  my  pardon?"  said  Archie. 
"Don't  be  prudish.  I  daresay  you've  got  arms  and 
legs  as  well  as  me,  haven't  you?" 

Thomas  grinned  with  that  odd,  shy  look  that 
Archie  had  noticed  before. 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  he  said. 

"Then,  what  is  there  to  be  ashamed  of?" 

Archie  opened  the  telegram  and  read  it,  and  sud- 
denly bit  his  lip  to  prevent  his  laughing. 

"Is  there  an  answer,  my  lord?"  asked  the  boy. 
"I  brought  a  form  down,  in  case." 

"Well  done.    Yes,  there  is  an  answer."     . 

Archie  hesitated  a  moment  before  directing  the 
form  to  Helena.    Then  he  wrote: 


332  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

"Deepest  sympathy  with  the  terrible  news.  Com- 
mand me  in  all  ways.    Your  devoted  Archie." 

"Send  that  at  once,  will  you?"  he  said. 

When  the  boy  had  gone  Archie  read  the  telegram 
again,  which  was  from  Jessie  and  told  him  that  Lord 
Harlow  had  been  killed  at  the  front.  Then  he  smoth- 
ered his  face  in  his  bent  elbow,  and  lay  shaking  with 
laughter. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

On  a  September  morning  some  fortnight  later 
Archie  was  waiting  in  the  drawing-room  at  Oakland 
Crescent  for  Helena's  entry.  He  had  seen  her  twice 
before  this,  and  it  struck  him  now  that  she  always 
kept  him  waiting  when  she  asked  him  to  come  and 
see  her,  and  ascribed  to  that  the  very  probable 
motive  that  she  expected  thereby  to  increase  his 
eagerness  for  her  coming.  Certainly  he  wanted  her 
to  come,  because  he  was  much  interested  and 
amused  in  the  conventional  little  comedy  she  was 
playing,  and  he  looked  forward  to  the  third  act,  on 
which  the  curtain  would  presently  ring  up.  In  the 
interval  he  sat  very  serenely  smiling  to  himself,  and 
tickling  the  end  of  his  nose  with  three  white  feath- 
ers that  he  had  received  in  the  street  to-day.  That 
always  diverted  him  extremely :  a  rude  young  wom- 
an would  come  up  (she  was  invariably  square  and 
plain,  and  had  a  knobby  face  like  a  chest  of 
drawers)  and  say,  "Aren't  you  ashimed  not  to  be 
serving  your  country?  You're  a  coward,  you  are," 
and  then  she  would  give  him  a  white  feather.  He 
had  quite  a  collection  of  them  now,  and  there  were 
nine  already  which  he  carefully  kept  in  his  stud-box, 
and  these  three  all  in  one  day  were  a  splendid  haul. 
He  had,  to  occupy  his  mind  very  pleasantly,  the 
remembrance  of  his  previous  interviews  with  Hel- 
ena, that  formed  the  two  existing  acts  of  the  comedy. 
In  the  first  she  had  come  in,  looking  deliciously 

333 


334  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

pretty  in  her  deep  mourning,  and  with  her  head  a 
little  on  one  side  had  held  out  both  her  hands  to 
him.  They  had  stood  with  hands  clasped  for  quite 
a  long  time,  and  then  Archie  kissed  her  because  he 
was  rather  tired  of  holding  her  hands,  and  because 
he  rather  enjoyed  kissing  her.  That  had  caused  a 
break,  and  they  sat  down  side  by  side,  and  Helena 
made  some  queer  movements  in  her  throat,  which 
seemed  to  Archie  to  be  designed  to  convey  the  im- 
pression that  she  was  repressing  her  emotion.  But 
they  did  not  quite  fulfill  their  design :  they  looked 
rather  as  if  they  were  due  to  the  desire  to  pump  up 
rather  than  keep  down.  Then  Helena  gave  a  long 
sigh. 

"Oh,  Archie,"  she  said,  "I  am  utterly  broken- 
hearted. It  was  so  sudden,  so  terribly  sudden.  I 
shall  never  get  over  it.  Think !  We  had  been  mar- 
ried only  a  fortnight,  and  next  day  I  got  a  letter 
from  him,  after  I  knew  he  was  dead.  Such  a  sweet 
little  letter,  so  cheerful  and  so  loving." 

Archie  expected  something  of  this  sort:  its  con- 
ventionality, its  utter  insincerity,  amused  him  enor- 
mously. And  wanting  more  of  it,  he  said  just  the 
proper  sort  of  thing  to  encourage  her  to  give  it  him. 

*'0h,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "but  how  you  will  love 
and  cherish  that  letter.  I  don't  suppose  you  were 
once  out  of  his  thoughts  all  the  time  he  was  in 
France." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  she  said.  "Ah,  what  a  privilege 
to  have  been  loved  as  I  was  loved  by  such  a  noble, 
manly  heart.  I  must  always  think  of  that,  mustn't 
I?" 

Archie  took  her  hand  again.    The  touch  of  those 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  835 

soft,  cool  fingers  gave  him  pleasure;  so,  too,  did  the 
answering  pressure  of  them. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  he  said.  "And  you  must  remember 
too,  that  it's  better  to  have  loved  and  lost,  than 
never  to  have  loved  at  all." 

She  repeated  the  quotation  in  a  dreamy,  medita- 
tive voice. 

"Yes,  that  is  so  true:  it  does  me  good  to  think  of 
that,"  she  said.  "And  I  mustn't  think  of  him  as 
dead,  really.  He  is  just  as  living  as  ever  he  was. 
He  was  so  fond  of  you,  too.  He  often  spoke  of  you. 
And  his  quaint,  quiet  humour!  ..." 

That  was  the  general  note  of  the  first  act:  it  had 
been  short,  for  the  conversation  suitable  to  it  was 
necessarily  limited.  The  second  showed  a  great  ad- 
vance in  scope  and  variety  of  topics.  Also  the  tempo 
was  quite  changed :  instead  of  its  being  largo,  it  was 
at  least  andante  con  moto. 

This  time,  after  again  keeping  him  waiting,  she 
had  entered  with  a  smile. 

"What  a  comfort  you  are,  Archie,"  she  said.  "I 
have  been  looking  forward  to  seeing  you  again. 
Somehow  you  understand  me,  which  nobody  else 
does.  I  feel  all  the  time  that  neither  darling  Jessie, 
whenever  I  see  her,  which  isn't  often,  for  she  is  so 
busy,  nor  Daddy,  quite  understand  me.  I  mean  to 
be  brave,  and  not  lose  courage,  not  lose  gaiety  even, 
and  I  think,  I  think  that  they  both  misjudge  me. 
They  think  I  should  be  utterly  broken.  So  I  was  at 
first,  as  you  know  so  well,  but  I  tried  to  take  to 
heart  what  you  said,  and  force  myself  not  to  des- 
pair. I  feel  I  oughtn't  to  do  that:  I  must  take 
the  burden  of  life  up  again  with  a  smile."   . 

Her  hand  lay  open  on  her  knee;  as  she  said  this, 
she  turned  it  over  towards  him,  making  an  invita- 


336  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

tion  that  seemed  unconscious.  He  slipped  his  long, 
brown  fingers  into  that  rosy  palm. 

"I  must  get  over  this  awful  feeling  of  loneliness," 
she  said,  "and  you  are  helping  me  so  deliciously  to 
do  so.  Daddy  is  busy  all  day:  I  scarcely  see  him. 
Jessie  is  busy  also.  I  think  she  enjoys  washing  up 
knives  and  forks  and  plates  for  soldiers,  though,  of 
course,  that  doesn't  make  it  any  less  sweet  of  her 
to  do  it.  But  anyhow,  she  hasn't  got  much  time  for 
me.    I  wish — no,  I  suppose  it's  wrong  to  wish  that.'* 

"Well,  confess  then,"  said  Archie,  smiling  at  her. 

"Yes,  dear  father-confessor,  though  I  ought  to  say 
boy-confessor,  for  you  look  so  young!  Well,  I'll 
confess  to  you.  I'm  sure  you  won't  be  shocked  with 
me.  I  wish  Jessie  cared  for  me  a  little  more.  She 
is  my  sister,  after  all.  But  I  daresay  it's  my  fault. 
I  haven't  got  the  key  to  her  heart.  And  with  Jessie 
and  Daddy  so  full  of  other  affairs,  I  do  feel  lonely. 
But  when  you  are  here,  I  don't.  I  don't  know  what 
I  should  have  done  without  you,  Archie.  I  think  I 
might  have  killed  myself." 

This  was  glorious :  Archie  gave  a  splendid  shudder. 

"Don't  talk  like  that,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  affec- 
tionate command.    "You  don't  know  how  it  hurts." 

"Ah,  I'm  sorry.  It  was  selfish  of  me.  Do  you 
forgive  me?" 

"You  know  I  do,"  said  he. 

She  had  brought  into  the  room  with  her  a  long 
envelope  and  rather  absently  she  took  out  from  it  an 
enclosure  of  papers. 

"I  got  this  to-day  from  the  lawyers,"  she  said. 
"It's  about  my  darling's  will,  I  think.  I  wonder  if 
you  would  help  me  to  understand  it.  I  am  so 
stupid  at  figures." 

She  slid  a  little  closer  to  him,  leaning  her  hand  on 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  337 

his  shoulder  and  looking  over  him  as  he  read.  The 
document  required,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  very  little 
exercise  of  intelligence.  The  house  in  Surrey  where 
they  had  spent  the  week  of  the  honeymoon  was 
hers:  and  so  was  a  very  decent  income  of  £15,000  a 
year,  left  to  her  without  any  condition  whatever  for 
her  life;  it  was  hers  absolutely.  The  disposition  of 
the  rest  of  his  fortune  depended  on  whether  she  had 
a  child.  The  details  of  that  were  not  given :  his  law- 
yer only  informed  her  what  was  hers. 

She  hid  her  face  on  the  hand  that  rested  on 
Archie's  shoulder. 

"Oh,  Archie,  I  can  never  go  back  to  that  house," 
she  said,  "at  least  not  for  a  long  time.  It  would 
be  tearing  open  the  old  wound  again." 

"Yes,  I  understand  that,"  said  he,  with  another 
pressure  of  his  fingers.  And  thinking  of  the  £15,000 
a  year  without  conditions,  he  had  a  wild  temptation 
to  console  her  further  by  quoting: 

"Let  us  grieve  not,  only  find 
Strength  in  what  remains  behind." 

But  he  refrained:  though,  apparently,  there  was  no 
limit  to  Helena's  insincerity,  there  might  be  some  in 
her  acceptance  of  the  insincerity  of  others. 

"Oh,  you  do  understand  me  so  well,"  she  said. 
"And,  Archie,  I  want  to  ask  a  horribly  selfish  thing 
of  you,  but  I  can't  help  it.  I  am  all  alone  now,  ex- 
cept for  you.  You  won't  go  out  to  the  war,  will  you? 
I  don't  think  I  could  bear  it,  if  you  did." 

It  was  quite  easy  for  him  to  promise  that,  but  an 
allusion  to  the  misconceptions  he  might  incur  made 
it  sound  difficult  and  noble. 

Since  then,  up  to  the  day  when  he  was  now  ex- 
pecting her  entry  for  the  third  act,  he  had  thought 


338  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

over  the  whole  situation  with  the  imaginative  vision 
which  absinthe  inspired.  He  had  not  the  slightest 
doubt  in  his  mind  that  Helena,  according  to  her  ca- 
pacity for  loving,  was  in  love  with  him  and  that  she 
thought  he  was  still  in  love  with  her.  But  when  he 
considered  it  all,  he  found  he  had  no  longer  the 
slightest  intention  of  marrying  her,  even  though  she 
had  £15,000  a  year  for  life  without  conditions  at- 
tached. Plenty  of  money  was  no  doubt  a  preventive 
of  discomfort  in  this  life,  and  he  felt  it  was  fine  of 
him  not  to  be  attracted  by  so  ignoble  a  bait.  But 
no  amount  of  money  would  really  compensate  for 
the  inseparable  companionship  of  Helena  with  her 
foolishness,  her  apparent  inability  to  understand 
that  her  insincerities,  so  far  from  being  convincing 
and  beautiful,  were  no  more  than  the  most  puerile 
and  transparent  counterfeits.  Certainly  she  aroused 
the  ardour  of  his  senses,  but  how  long  would  that 
last,  and  even  while  it  lasted,  how  could  it  compare 
to  his  ardour  for  his  absinthe-coloured  dreams,  and 
the  ecstasy  of  his  communion  with  the  spirit  that 
had  made  its  home  in  him?  She  would  interrupt 
all  that,  and,  as  a  companion,  she  could  not  com- 
pare with  his  father.  She  would  always  be  wanting 
to  be  caressed  and  made  much  of  and  admired  and 
taken  care  of.  .  .  .  It  would  soon  become  most  ter- 
ribly tedious. 

There  was  a  further  reason  against  marrying  her, 
which  was  as  potent  as  any.  He  would  forfeit  his 
revenge  on  her,  if  he  did  that.  Once,  dim  ages  ago, 
it  seemed,  and  on  another  plane  of  existence,  he  had 
loved  her,  and  she,  knowing  it,  had  fed  his  devotion 
with  smiles  and  glances,  and  at  the  end  had  chosen 
him  whose  body  now  decayed  in  some  graveyard  of 
North  France,  already  probably  desecrated  by  the 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  339 

in-swarming  Germans.  Now  it  was  Archie's  turn; 
already,  he  was  sure,  she  expected  to  marry  him, 
and  she  would  learn  that  he  had  not  the  least  in- 
tention of  doing  so.  That  delightful  situation  might 
easily  be  arrived  at  in  the  third  act  for  which  he 
was  waiting  now. 

This  time  she  came  with  flowers  in  her  hand,  and 
presently,  as  they  sat,  side  by  side  on  the  sofa  talk- 
ing, she  put  one  into  his  buttonhole.  Instantly  he 
interrupted  himself  in  what  he  was  saying  and  kissed 
it. 

She  gave  him  that  long  glance  which  he  had  once 
thought  meant  so  much.  It  had  not  meant  much 
then,  from  her  point  of  view,  but  it  meant  a  good 
deal  more  now.  But  to  Archie  it  had  passed  from 
being  a  gleam  of  wonder  to  a  farthing  dip. 

"Oh,  you  foolish  boy!"  she  said. 

He  almost  thought  he  heard  JNIartin  laugh. 

"I  don't  see  anything  foolish  about  it,"  he  said. 
"At  least  if  it's  foolish,  I've  always  been  foolish." 

Her  lips  moved,  though  not  to  speak;  they  just 
gathered  themselves  together,  and  a  little  tremor 
went  down  the  arm  that  rested  against  his.  He  was 
perfectly  certain  of  both  those  signals,  and  next 
moment  he  had  folded  her  to  him,  and  she  lay  less 
than  unresisting  in  his  arms. 

Then  she  gently  thrust  him  from  her. 

"Ah,  how  wrong  of  me,"  she  said,  "and  yet  per- 
haps it's  not  wrong.  The  dear  Bradshaw  would  al- 
ways want  me  to  be  happy.  Perhaps  he  even 
thought  of  this  when  he  left  me  so  free.  For  this 
time,  Archie,  I  shan't  come  to  you  empty-handed. 
But  of  course  we  mustn't  think  of  all  that  for  many 
months  yet." 


340  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

Archie,  flushed  and  merry-eyed,  looked  at  her  with 
boyish  surprise. 

'Think  of  what?"  he  said. 

"Ah,  you  force  me  to  say  it,  do  you?  Of  our 
marriage." 

He  was  adorable  in  her  eyes  just  then:  she  could 
hardly  realise  that  so  few  months  ago  she  had  defi- 
nitely put  him  from  her.  His  warm,  smooth  face, 
his  crisp,  curling  hair,  the  youthful  roughness  and 
ardour  of  his  embrace,  inflamed  and  ravished  her. 

He  looked  at  her  still  inquiringly  a  moment,  then 
threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"Oh,  you're  delicious!"  he  said.  "But  marriage? 
What  do  you  mean?  A  cousinly  kiss,  a  little  sym- 
pathy; that's  all  I  intended.  Well,  I  must  be  off. 
Good-bye!" 

Next  moment,  still  choking  with  laughter,  he  was 
downstairs  and  out  into  the  street.  He  could  not 
resist  looking  up  at  the  window,  and  waving  a  gay 
hand  towards  it.  Something  within  him,  that 
seemed  the  very  essence  of  his  being,  shouted  and 
sang  with  glee. 

The  house  in  Grosvenor  Square,  where  his  mother 
had  become  housekeeper  and  Jessie  kitchen-maid, 
had  at  present  in  it  only  a  few  wounded  oflScers 
from  France,  and  during  these  two  or  three  days  in 
town  Archie  could  still  occupy  his  own  bedroom, 
while  his  servant  slept  in  the  dressing-room  adjoin- 
ing. He  was  out  very  late  that  night,  for  the  com- 
pleteness of  his  revenge  on  Helena  ran  like  a  feeding 
fire  through  his  veins,  and  both  nourished  and 
burned  him. 

Dawn  had  already  broken  when  he  let  himself  in, 
and  went  very  quietly  upstairs,  not  intending  to  go 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  341 

to  bed  till  he  had  had  an  interview  with  Martin. 
All  night  he  had  felt  as  if  jNIartin  was  bursting  to 
come  forth  again ;  he  was  already  intensely  present, 
even  though  Archie  had  not  yet  sunk  his  conscious 
self  and  opened  the  door  of  mystic  communication. 
That  controlling  spirit  foamed  and  simmered  within 
him;  he  could  all  but  break  open  the  door  himself, 
and  be  present  without  invitation.  He  was  still  just 
confined,  but  only  just — it  seemed  that  at  any  min- 
ute he  might  assert  himself.  But  Ai^hie,  with  the 
gourmand-instinct  that  delays  an  actual  fulfilment, 
teasing  itself,  while  it  knows  that  the  fuifihnent  is 
assured,  lingered  over  his  undressing,  and  planned 
to  make  himself  cool  and  comfortable  in  his  py- 
jamas before  he  abandoned  the  fortress  of  his  nor- 
mal self.  He  brushed  his  teeth,  he  sponged  face  and 
neck  with  cold  water,  he  arranged  his  chair  in  the 
window  and  put  on  the  table  by  his  bed  the 
moonstone  stud  on  which  he  would  focus  his  eyes, 
and  stretched  himself  long  and  luxuriously  till  he 
heard  his  shoulder  joints  crack.  Martin  seemed  in 
a  great  hurry  to  come  to-night,  but  IVIartin  must 
just  wait  till  he  was  ready.  And  then,  all  of  a  sud- 
den, he  heard  a  tremendous  noise  of  rapping — he 
knew  that  IMartin  had  come,  and  an  awful  terror 
seized  his  soul,  for  Martin  had  come  without  being 
called. 

At  that  precise  moment  his  servant  next  door 
started  up,  wide  awake,  with  some  loud  sound  in 
his  ears  that  seemed  to  come  from  Archie's  bed- 
room. He  tapped  at  his  door,  but,  getting  no  an- 
swer, went  in.  He  found  Archie  lying  on  the  floor, 
curled  up  together,  like  some  twisted  root  of  a  tree, 
foaming  at  the  mouth.  He  ran  downstairs  to  get 
help,  and  brought  up  one  of  the  nurses  who  was  on 


342  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

duty.     She  instantly  telephoned  for  a  doctor,  and 
woke  Lady  Tintagel. 

All  that  day  Archie  lay  in  this  strange  seizure,  ap- 
parently quite  unconscious.  Sometimes  a  paroxysm 
would  take  hold  of  him,  and  he  lay  with  staring  eyes 
and  teeth  that  ground  against  each  other,  and  limbs 
that  curled  into  fantastic  shapes.  In  the  intervals 
he  remained  still  and  rigid,  his  eyes  for  the  most 
part  shut,  breathing  quickly,  as  if  he  had  been  run- 
ning. Then  once  again  the  panic  and  the  agony 
would  grip  him  and  with  eyes  wide  with  terror  and 
foaming  mouth  he  struggled  and  fought  against  the 
Thing  that  mastered  him.  But  each  paroxysm  left 
him  weaker,  and  it  was  clear  that  he  would  not  be 
able  to  stand  many  more  of  these  attacks.  Yet  no 
one  could  wish  them  prolonged:  it  would  but  be 
merciful  if  the  end  came  soon,  and  spared  him  fur- 
ther suffering. 

Towards  sunset  that  day  Jessie  was  sitting  by  him, 
with  orders  to  call  the  nurse  next  door  if  he  shewed 
signs  of  the  restlessness  which  preceded  the  return 
of  a  seizure.  She  knew  that,  humanly  speaking,  he 
was  dying,  but  her  faith  never  faltered  that  he 
might  still  be  saved,  and  that  through  her  and  her 
love,  salvation  might  come  to  him.  Medical  science 
was  of  no  avail;  it  could  not  combat  the  spiritual 
foe  that  had  taken  him  prisoner.  That  rescue  had 
to  be  made  through  spiritual  means,  and  the  two- 
edged  sword  by  which  alone  his  captor  could  be 
vanquished  was  the  bright-shining  weapon  of  love 
and  prayer.  It  was  in  her  hand  now,  as  she  watched 
and  waited. 

He  lay  quite  still,  breathing  quickly  and  with  a 
shallow  inspiration,  but  there  were  no  signs  of  the 


ACROSS  THE  STREAJNI  343 

restlessness  which  she  had  to  look  out  for.  But  pres- 
ently she  observed  that  his  eyes  were  no  longer 
closed,  but  were  open  and  looking  steadily  at  the 
brass  knob  at  the  foot  of  his  bed  on  which  a  sun- 
beam, entering  through  a  chink  at  the  side  of  the 
drawn  window-blind,  made  a  focus  of  light.  And  all 
at  once  she  guessed  that  he  was  looking  at  this  with 
purpose,  and  her  soul,  sword  in  hand,  crouched, 
ready  to  spring.  Then  from  the  bed  came  Archie's 
voice. 

"Martin,"  it  said. 

There  was  dead  silence,  and  she  saw  forming  in 
the  air  a  little  in  front  of  him  a  nucleus  of  mist.  It 
gathered  volume  from  a  little  jet  as  of  steam  that 
appeared  to  come  from  Archie  himself.  Thicker  and 
thicker  it  grew:  strange  lines  began  to  interlace 
themselves  within  it,  and  these  took  form.  The 
dimness  of  its  outline  grew  firm  and  distinct,  the 
shape  stood  detached  and  clear,  and  bending-  over 
Archie  with  a  smile  triumphant  and  cruel  stood  the 
semblance  she  had  seen  once  before  at  midnight  in 
Archie's  room.  He  was  no  longer  looking  at  the 
knob  at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  but  with  eyes  wide  open 
and  blank  with  some  nameless  terror  he  gazed  at 
the  apparition. 

Jessie  rose  and  stood  opposite  it  on  the  other 
side  of  his  bed.  The  two-edged  sword  was  drawn 
now,  and  its  bright  blade  gleamed  in  the  darkness 
of  the  evil  that  flooded  the  room.  And  then  it 
seemed  that  that  incarnation  of  it  that  stood  beside 
Archie's  bed  was  aware,  for  it  turned  and  looked 
her  full  in  the  face,  bringing  to  bear  on  her  the  ut- 
most of  its  hellish  potency. 

For  one  moment  against  that  awful  assault  her 
soul  cried  out  in  panic.    It  had  not  dreamed  that 


344  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

from  all  the  crimes  with  which  the  world  has  with- 
ered and  bled  there  could  be  distilled  a  tincture  so 
poisonous.  And  then  her  love  rallied  her  scattered 
courage  and  she  stood  firm  again.  Nothing  in  the 
world  but  love  and  prayer  could  prevail,  but  nothing, 
if  once  she  could  fully  realise  that,  could  prevail 
against  them.  In  her  hand,  as  in  the  hand  of  all 
who  are  foes  to  evil,  was  the  invincible  weapon, — 
could  they  but  use  its  power  to  the  full.  .  .  . 

She  stood,  as  she  knew,  in  the  face  of  the  dead- 
liest peril  by  which  any  living  thing  into  which 
the  breath  of  God  has  passed  can  be  confronted. 
There  is  no  soul  so  strong  that  evil  ceases  to  be  a 
menace  to  it,  and  here  facing  her  was  the  power  that 
had  already  perverted  all  that  Archie  held  of  good- 
ness and  humanity.  There  it  stood,  one  victim  al- 
ready its  helpless  prisoner,  and  it  lusted  for  more. 
And  the  wordless  struggle  as  old  as  evil  itself  began. 

She  would  not  give  ground.  Her  soul  laid  itself 
open,  and  let  the  light  invisible  shine  on  it.  In  this 
struggle  there  were  no  strivings  or  wrestlings,  she 
had  but  to  stay  quiet,  and  in  just  that  achievement 
of  quietness  the  struggle  lay.  Once,  for  a  moment, 
all  Hell  swirled  and  exulted  round  her,  for  her  love 
for  Archie  let  itself  contemplate  the  human  and 
material  aspect  of  him:  the  next  she  put  all  that 
away  from  her,  and  again  stood  with  his  soul,  so  to 
speak,  in  her  uplifted  hands,  offering  it  to  God.  In 
the  very  storm-centre  of  this  evil  which  shrieked  and' 
raged  round  her  there  must  be  and  there  was  a  space 
where  the  peace  that  passeth  understanding  dwelt 
in  serene  calm.  The  storm  might  shift  and  envel- 
ope her  again  in  its  hellish  bellowings,  but  again  and 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  345 

yet  again  she  had  to  regain  the  centre  where  no 
blast  of  it  could  penetrate. 

How  long  this  lasted,  she  could  not  tell.  Her  body 
was  quite  conscious  of  its  ordinary  perception;  the 
blind  tapped  on  the  window,  and  there  came  from 
outside  the  stir  of  distant  trafiSc.  But  she  did  not 
take  her  gaze  from  those  awful  eyes  that  sometimes 
smiled,  sometimes  blazed  with  hate.  Steadily  and 
firmly  she  looked  at  them  and  through  them,  for 
behind  them,  as  behind  the  cloud,  was  the  sunlight 
of  God. 

And  then  there  came  a  change.  It  seemed  that 
the  power  she  fought  was  weakening.  Its  eyes 
shifted ;  they  no  longer  looked  undeviatingly  at  her, 
but  glanced  round  for  a  moment,  as  if  they  looked 
for  some  way  of  escape.  They  would  come  back  to 
her  again  with  fresh  assault  of  smiles  or  hate,  but 
each  time  they  seemed  less  potent.  More  than  once 
they  left  her  face  altogether  for  a  while,  and  were 
directed  on  Archie,  as  if  seeking  the  refuge  there 
that  they  knew ;  but,  with  a  wordless  command  that 
they  were  forced  to  obey,  she  summoned  them  back 
to  her  again,  making  the  spirit  that  directed  them 
turn  its  assault  on  her.  She  gave  it  no  rest,  fixing 
it  on  herself  by  the  strength  of  love  and  prayer. 

The  eyes  began  to  grow  dim:  the  outline  of  the 
form  began  to  waver.  The  interlacing  lines  out  of 
which  it  was  woven  began  to  unravel  again,  and  it 
grew  shapeless.  But  it  was  not  being  absorbed  into 
Archie:  there  were  no  streams  of  mist  between  him 
and  it,  as  when  it  had  first  taken  substance.  Already 
through  it  she  could  see  the  wall  behind  it,  and 
it  grew  ever  fainter  and  thinner.  .  .  . 

There  was  nothing  left  of  it  now,  and  for  the  first 


346  ACROSS  THE  STREAM 

time  since  the  struggle  began  she  looked  at  Archie. 
He  was  lying  quite  still  with  eyes  closed  again.  And 
then  she  saw  that  by  her  side  was  standing  another 
presence.  It  was  identical  in  form  and  shape  with 
that  which  had  vanished,  and  it  bent  on  Archie  so 
amazing  a  look  of  love  that  her  soul,  tired  and  sick 
with  struggle,  felt  itself  uplifted  and  refreshed  again. 
And  for  one  moment  it  looked  at  her,  and  it  was  as 
if  Archie  himself  was  looking  at  her.  And  then  it 
was  there  no  longer. 

There  came  a  sound  from  next  door,  and  the  nurse 
who  was  there  ready  to  be  summoned  entered. 

"Has  he  been  quite  quiet?"  she  asked,  and  with- 
out waiting  for  an  answer  she  went  to  the  bed.  She 
looked  at  Archie  a  moment,  then  felt  his  elbows  and 
knees,  finding  them  pliant  again,  instead  of  being 
stiff  and  rigid,  and  listened  to  his  quiet  breathing. 

"But  there  has  come  an  extraordinary  change," 
she  said.  "The  seizure  has  passed.  He's  very  weak, 
of  course,  but  it's  over." 

She  beamed  at  Jessie. 

"Well,  you  are  a  good  nurse,"  she  said.  "But  I 
think  I'll  just  fetch  the  doctor." 

She  went  out  of  the  room,  and  Archie  who  had 
Iain  quite  motionless  with  closed  eyes  suddenly 
stirred  and  looked  at  the  girl. 

"Why,  Jessie,"  he  said. 

She  came  close  to  the  bed. 

"Yes?" 

"What's  happened?"  said  he.  'Tve  had  some  aw- 
ful nightmare.  And  then  you  broke  it  up.  Hasn't 
Martin  been  here,  too?" 

"Yes,  Archie,"  she  said. 

He  lay  in  silence  a  moment. 


ACROSS  THE  STREAM  347 

"You  saved  my  life  once  at  Silorno,"  he  said, 
"when  the  hghtning  struck  the  tree.  Jessie,  have 
you — have  you  saved  it  again?" 

She  could  find  no  answer  for  him:  not  a  word 
could  she  speak. 

"Jessie!"  said  he  again,  and  held  out  his  hand  to 
her. 

May  31,  1917. 


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B 74 .3  Modywood  Boulevard 
noUywooa,  CalH. 

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